In a New Light
by Kate McKenthy
Summary: What if the Games had happened differently? Peeta - the caring older brother of Prim, born and raised in the Seam. Katniss, the guardian angel and the Baker's daughter. What happens when Peeta and Prim are reaped? Will they be sent to fight to the death, or will a certain angel step in and protect Peeta and his family like always?
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: What if the Hunger Games had happened different? Peeta is no longer the Baker's son, but the son of a widowed Seamtress with his only reason for living being to feed and protect his younger sister, Prim. Katniss is no longer a cold, lonely huntress from the Seam - but rather a kind guardian angel from Uptown and the Baker's Daughter. What happens when Peeta and Prim, both, are reaped? Will they be forced to kill one another, or will a certain angel be watching out for Peeta like always?**

The sun's just peeking up now, casting long shadows on my face and giving the world that hopeful, dreamy quality that only appears on mornings like these. It's that rusty shade of orange – the one that makes me want to run towards it, away from here in promise of a better tomorrow.

As if it had been coordinated, the clouds start rolling in, soaking up most of the precious sunlight along with them as if to answer the silent question of, "Will the light ever beat the darkness?"

The grey world whispers, "No."

I don't say these things to sound pitiful or pathetic. I don't want anyone's sympathy.

It's just that life – our life – really doesn't get better than this. The practical painting of a good life around The Seam is me, standing here, illegally poaching at ungodly hours in the morning so that my reason for existence has a lump in her tummy.

And if I was being honest, there is only one reason that I bother getting up in the morning.

My younger and only sister, Primrose, always comes first. She's the only thing that really matters now. There had been once been a time when that wasn't the case. I _had _felt for more than one person, but it was so long ago that now it just leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and queasy hole in my stomach.

And with that thought, I reach down and pluck a few pale roses from the ground, a few measly inches from being crushed by a sopping log from last night's rain.

Prim would like them. She'd smile sweetly like always, thank me, and proceed to wear it in her gold hair until it started to wither away.

I hated that she was always so strong. To the naked eye, she appeared as innocent and pure as any other eight year old, but when you live with her, you realize how much she struggles – trying to smile. She shouldn't have to do that – plaster a beautiful, fake smile on her face.

She should be laughing in the sunshine like the Merchants do.

She did sometimes, I mean. She had many friends – it wasn't hard for her. You couldn't _not _like her.

I, on the other hand, was abrasive and very un-Primly.

I'd had one friend – if you even call her that. Maybe even an older sister.

Her name was Madge, a Seam kid like myself, quite a bit older, that'd use to hunt with me. Unfortunately, she had an early birthday and was forced into work the day she turned eighteen.

I used to drop off food every now and then – I assumed without Madge's winnings that they'd be picked off within weeks.

But I was wrong.

Madge's family thrived.

I didn't understand how that was even possible. Everyone knew that was true about Healers like Madge – they didn't make much.

So when I saw Madge weeks later after her birthday, filled with enough food to where I could no longer see her ribs through her shirts – I was relieved.

It would be rude to ask where she got the food, so I never did.

Today was one of those days that I wished Madge was with me. She had well trained eyes and a keen nose – she taught me as much as she could, but I wasn't a good as her.

I was just a scrawny, twelve year old boy that could barely out weigh a sack of flour.

I was smart – I'd been told that a number of times – and I was fast. When we were together, we conquered the woods.

But today, the odds aren't in my favor.

I'm _so _tired, and I'm _so _hungry.

With winter crawling nearer, the animals have started packing away for sleep. Game is becoming scarce, and most days I come home empty handed.

It seems like today is going to be one of those days.

I hate complaining, but the constant groaning of my stomach makes me flinch awake in the middle of the night while I'd been dreaming of hot bread.

And then to see Prim crying from hunger pains is like a whole new wave of agony.

Some days I hate Madge for leaving me.

The flash of emotion makes my empty body woozy for a moment, and I have to sit down.

It's been four days.

Four days and not a scrap of food I'd manage to bring home. It was shameful and embarrassing. Prim would smile and pat my back saying she wasn't hungry, only to hear the sounds of her stifled whimpers in the middle of the night.

I had to get _something_.

I stumbled my way into town in the freezing rain, clutching onto buildings and fences as I passed by, looking for trash cans. I really didn't need any Peacekeepers coming by and scraping my unconscious body off the sidewalk in front of any Merchants.

Luckily, it was early enough that most sane people would still be asleep. The only business I knew to open at this time was the bakery.

The thought alone of something _associated _with bread made my entire body quiver.

I mean, they had to have thrown away _something_, right? I mean, possibly even tesserae bread.

It'd be enough. It'd be enough.

I wasn't super familiar with this part of town except for the few trades I'd made at the bakery with Mr. Everdeen in exchange for squirrels. He was a kind man with a vicious wife and a daughter, Katniss, whom I'd never met and a son who'd died two winters ago – some illness that even the best of Healers couldn't cure.

My mom had sent him free fabrics from her shop and Prim attempted her hand at cookies. They were little, fluffy but flavorful raisin balls that made him smile.

I'd even dropped off a couple free squirrels weekly – I knew what it was like to lose family, and I knew that those months to follow would be the worst of their lives.

But if I didn't recognize the sight, the fresh yeasty smell guided me. The orangey lights coming from the ovens were like a glowing sun rising. I didn't even bother to wipe off the drool that'd collected on my lips.

I went around to the back of the alley where the trash cans hid. I tore lids off quietly as I could, but the eagerness of my hunger made the task much harder.

As if the day could get any better, I realized there were several windows facing the alley way.

And a pair of hard, narrowed eyes pointed at me through the blinds before vanishing. It was Mrs. Everdeen, no doubt.

She threw open the heavy bakery side door, slamming and screaming about how disgusting I was and how I should be ashamed.

None of those things mattered to me. I'd heard worse, but her promise of summoning the Peacekeepers got me moving.

When I'd stepped away from the trash cans, she gave a satisfied harrumph before moving back inside to the warmth of her bakery.

I'd gotten the attention of more than one person from the looks of it – a dark pair of grey eyes stared at me from inside – there was no coldness, not even pity. They were determined, but very sad.

And as I crawled over to the tree across the street from the business and slumped against it, I couldn't help but get lost in my thoughts.

That this is the end.

Prim's going to die.

I'm going to die.

It'll be my fault.

It's all my fault.

"KATNISS!"

The name was followed by a sharp, air-cutting slap – skin on skin if I had to guess, and then a series of clangs and metal clattering.

The muscles in my body tensed, ready to spring into the bakery and beat the life out of the mad woman if she'd harmed a hair on the girl's head – I may not have known her, but she'd already suffered enough.

And then the tiniest girl I'd ever seen was thrown onto her knees on the pavement in front of the side door – two loaves of blacked bread following after her. She swiftly caught both, clutching them to her chest like they were precious gold – _edible blacked _gold.

"YOU PIECE OF TRASH! FEED THEM TO THE PIGS!"

The door slammed then, and the sharp clicking of locks ended the brawl – leaving her outside in the rain.

The girl used the over-sized sleeve over blouse to wipe away a few tears that escaped down her cheeks, and I felt horrible. You could see the red welt appearing under her eyes, and she hissed at the contact.

She looked around as if searching for something – the pigs _were _in front of her.

But then she caught my eyes.

Those sad, grey eyes seeming to fill with hope. She stood up and rushed over to me – I couldn't help but notice her slight limp.

She stopped in front of me, barely towering over me - even in my sitting position.

Her cheeks were tear stained and her nose was a cold pink, but even with these in addition to the angry mark under her eye, I couldn't help but think of a small fairy or angel even – burned loaves of bread in her arms that now were extended towards me.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," she whispered in a small voice. I reached out for them and took them in my hands. I wasn't sure what she was apologizing for – that I was starving? That I'd been caught trying to eat out of the trash? That I should be humiliated? "I tried not to burn them too much, but –," she trailed off and stared at her feet.

And then in a split, I felt like I completely understood who Katniss Everdeen was.

"Could – Could you give something to Prim for me?" she pleaded hopefully. She reached into the pocket of her huge apron and pulled out a small cookie – a single, beautifully-detailed, yellow primrose painted onto it. "It's a bit stale now, but I thought she might like it."

I nodded – the words that I so desperately wanted to scream like "Thank you" or even "Yes" couldn't seem to find their way to her. She smiled – a beautiful sight that could easily rival with Prim's.

She extended her small, boney hand out to mine for me to take, and I did with little hesitancy. The contact felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around our hands, and I really argued with myself to let go.

"Take care, Peeta," she said before giving my hand a final squeeze.

I looked after her as she ran back to the bakery, carefully picking the lock of the side-door with a bobby pin she had stashed in her hair, letting herself back in.

She'd been prepared – I could only assume it wasn't the first time it'd happened.

And just as quickly as she'd came, she was gone – I hadn't even muttered a thank you. I wanted to slap myself, maybe even scream.

But the smell of the bread in my arms seemed to control my feet as I sprinted with a new found energy all the way home.

Prim was still asleep when I found her – dried streams of tears glistening on her face in the pale morning light.

I shook her gently, her bright blue eyes fluttering open and meeting mine with a breath-taking hopefulness.

"Hey, little duck," I whispered. "I brought you something."

She sat up, wiping the tear residue out of her eyes before focusing in on the two loaves of bread I had tucked under my arms. Her jaw comically dropped and her eyes widened in surprise before filling with tears again.

"Breakfast?" she asked with a slight tremor in her voice.

"Yeah!" I tore off the end and pressed it into her small palm. She didn't scarf it down like I had imagined, but stared at it like it had done something to offend her. "What is it?"

The first tear escaped before a torrent of them followed quickly. I caught as many as I could and wiped them away for her.

"Is this real?" she whispered hoarsely. "Am I still asleep?" She fumbled on the last word as a heart-breaking hiccup cut her off.

"No, Prim. You're awake. It's real," I laughed at the absurdity of this situation before wrapping my arms around her and rocking her.

Most girls cry about something 'not being real' on Christmas morning, when they got the doll they wanted, or they cry when the boy they like asks them to Homecoming.

My little girl was crying about eating breakfast.

I woke my mom up to join us – I even poured her coffee and got out some of our old honey and jams to celebrate.

Or maybe it was just me who was celebrating – celebrating that we were living to see another day. That maybe we'd be okay.

So I made us say grace before we dug in. Prim lead us in thanking God for the bread.

But really, I thanked God for the beautiful, crying angel that he'd put on the Earth. And I prayed that he always protect her and watch over her the way she had watched over me.


	2. Chapter 2

I watched her go home today.

And yesterday.

And the day before that.

And basically everyday for the past three years.

Her hair was in a single braid, swinging back and forth as she marched her way slowly into town alone. The simple detail about her was completely mesmerizing to me. Almost as much as her smile or her eyes – the two things I've drawn more times than I care to admit.

There's a drawer in my desk at home that completely filled with sketches of her, and I know that it's creepy, but I can't stop.

I have an obsession with her.

According to Prim.

She teases me about my fascination of Katniss Everdeen constantly. She doesn't know about the bread she gave us or the hope she gave me, and I feel it is easier that way. Less explanations – less confrontations. So when she sees me stare after Katniss, with what she calls "unfathomable longing," she immediately assumes I'm hopelessly crushing after the Baker's Daughter.

In a way, I am, but it's different than most crushes.

Most of the time, when I guy gets a crush on a girl, those feelings aren't accompanied by guilt or having the need to repay the girl.

So I leave it alone, and I don't talk to her.

I wish I could talk to her though – and Prim does, too. She bugs me about it most days, demanding an explanation.

"We're from different parts of town, Prim. Her family would never allow her to date a Seam boy."

Prim's nose wrinkles with distaste and shakes her head. "Parents can't stop true love, Peeta. Haven't you ever read _Romeo and Juliet_?"

I chuckled and fluff her hair, "I have – and you know how it ends?"

She nods. "They get married."

"Yes," I say. "But they die _because _their parents won't let them be together."

Prim's eyes widen in horror.

"I didn't know _that_!" she cries, clamping her hands over her ears. "That's horrible!"

"It's love," I joke, but her eyes narrow at me so I stop talking and walk her home – stealing glances at Katniss over my shoulder to make sure she hasn't tripped or –

"Peeta," Prim's voice breaks my worrying.

"Yes?"

"You're being creepy."

My face turns read, but I have to laugh.

I was being creepy.

Later that night I just happen to walk by the bakery, thinking that maybe a late night trade is in order.

I step inside into the warmth, Mrs. Everdeen seeing me and immediately barking at me.

"I just want to trade," I hold up a brick of goat cheese and a string of squirrels, proving my intentions.

She rolls her eyes before ducking into the kitchen out of sight.

"Katniss, that Mellark boy wants to trade," she scoffs.

"Be right there!" I hear Katniss shout in a strained voice. It's only seconds until she's in view, looking beautiful with her face partially covered in what appears to be flour. "How can I help you, Mr. Mellark?" she sounds so formal, I chuckle.

"I want to make a deal," I say, flinging the squirrels and cheese onto the counter. She smiles down at the objects before her and nods.

"Sounds good to me."

These are the only interactions Katniss Everdeen and I ever get. I purposely come down here way more than necessary, scoping out bread that I have to intention of buying just to see her – maybe even talk.

But she's always in the back with her father – her mother giving me menacing glares and wanting to know why I'm there.

She knows that I never buy anything.

I wave goodbye to Katniss, a small smile on my face as I head out, kicking myself for not saying more.

I could have thanked her.

I still haven't, and I hate myself for that. It's not that the bread was embarrassing to me – that I had to be fed for free by practically strangers – it was just that I felt embarrassed about not doing it sooner.

I wondered if I'd ever get the chance.

I can dream, though.

And I do, I dream of a world untainted with Games and war – a place where I can live happily with my family. I can see Prim smiling in the sun – not crying from hunger. I can see my father – holding my mother, beaming, and alive. My mother is no longer a zombie.

And a place where I can sit and talk with Katniss Everdeen that's not the bakery. A place where I can ask her what her favorite color is, ask about her dreams and her fears, find out what her middle name is –

But it's just a dream.

**I know it's short :P The next one is longer, I promise!**

**Peeta was 12 in the last chapter and Katniss was 11.**

**In this chapter, Peeta and Katniss are both 15.**

**Next chapter is the Reaping – Peeta is 17 and Katniss is 16 (just to clear up any confusion)**

**I like Reviews like Peeta likes "trading" with Katniss...;D**


	3. Chapter 3

When I wake up this morning, I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, unwilling to move. I'm hoping that today isn't the day – that maybe I've miscounted or the calendar is off, but then I remember the large dinner we had last night. It's tradition that we stuff our faces as much as possible before Reaping Day – in case it's our last meal home.

So far, I've been lucky. I've gone four years without my name being drawn and if the odds are _really _in my favor, I'll go five years without being reaped and never have to worry about myself again.

But this year is different than other years – because this year is Prim's first year. She'd woken up in a fit of screams and tears over a nightmare of her name being read last night. And honestly, I'd had the same nightmare as her, but if I wasn't there to comfort her, who would be?

I'd even gone out of my way to make sure that she had as little slips as possible in that bowl. No tesserae. Not one. I took them all – my total adding up to over twenty, but I'd lost track. As long as Prim was safe as possible, my consequences didn't seem so awful.

I glance at the clock on the wall – I'd slept in fairly late. I feel more tired than usual, even with the extra hours of rest. My bones crack as I stretch to my limits getting out of bed. Every part of me has the sensation of being pulled down on – that I have weights on every joint of my body. I wasn't exactly sure when I did fall back to sleep after Prim's nightmare. The sobs had quieted down after twenty minutes or so, too tired to cry anymore. I, on the other hand, was now being haunted by my dreams as well as Prim's.

When I started worrying like this, I played a game. I listed all the things that are good in my life.

We ate good food.

We are alive.

Prim says she has a surprise for me.

I'm going to the bakery.

Prim is safe.

_The bakery_.

I moved a lot faster then, racing to pull on my dress slacks and button down shirt, hastily tucking it in. I grabbed the first two socks I saw in my drawer – not really paying attention to color or pattern and slicked back my hair like Mom always did for me on the morning of the Reaping.

But as of now, she lies in her room, facing the wall, blankets up to her chin. I don't know if she's actually asleep or not – but for the past few years, there isn't much of a difference.

I rush out the door down the street, trying to keep my emotions under control. Part of me wants to run back inside and hide under the covers of my bed where I feel the world is safer, and the other part wants to smile because _I'm _going to the _bakery. _

There isn't really anything particularly exciting about a bakery. It's just bread and cakes with good smells and warmth, but yet, I can't control the hot glow that swallows my chest.

Maybe it's the memories associated with it – the fact that the bakery is where I was saved, where life finally started for me.

Or maybe it's because Katniss Everdeen.

Who knows?

I push open the door, bells jingling at my entrance. No one's manning counter. The shop is _technically _closed in honor of Reaping, but I can hear a very familiar voice from somewhere in the back.

"Now, I want it to say, 'Prim Loves You.'"

"Hold on, ducky. I have to make sure there is enough frosting first. You've got your sights set pretty high."

I hear a sweet harrumph and then the dramatic stomp of foot.

"Are you trying to pout?"

Prim giggled. "Was it convincing?"

A bell chime laugh replied, "Not even a little bit."

I glance around the corner into the kitchen. Prim is dressed in proper Reaping clothes – a skirt and blouse that I know is a hand-me-down from a neighbor, standing on a little stool to peer at the cake in front of a beaming grey-eyed girl.

"Peeta!" Prim gasps, a hand covering her mouth. She flops in front of the in-work masterpiece, shielding it from me. "Don't look! It's not finished!"

I respond accordingly, covering my eyes and groaning. "Well, I don't know _how _I'm supposed to get to the square _now_. I can't see!"

I hear Prim sigh, "Is it okay if I just give it to him now, Katniss?"

"Of course," I can hear the smile in her voice. "I think it looks pretty darn good, don't you?"

I uncover my eyes to see Prim nodding enthusiastically. Katniss hands the cake over to Prim before handing it to me, Prim smiling bashfully.

"What's this?" I ask. "Did you make me a _cake_, duck?"

She shrugs as if it's nothing. "Katniss did most of it," she explains. "But I wanted you to have something nice for your last Reaping."

The thought pulls the string around my tight, making breathing and coherent thoughts hard. I pull her close and place a kiss on her head. "Thank you, Prim. It's _beautiful_," and I intended the words for Prim, but when I say this, my gaze flickers over to Katniss who is smiling brightly at the exchange.

She looks tired – glowing, but tired. She has her Reaping clothes on too, a simple blue dress that shows off exactly how tiny she is. Her long brown hair gathered in a halo-like brain around her head and I smile. Always an angel.

Her and I don't talk often. I mean, how could we? We're too different, her and I. Her family, and when I say family I mean her mom, doesn't approve of my lurking around the bakery. I still try hopelessly, trying to start a conversation, but I just can't really seem form a sentence in her presence. There's too much to say – so much that it wants to all fly out of mouth at once, and I can't let that happen. It'd probably scare her away.

If her and I make it out of the Reaping – I'm going to thank her, once and for all. And maybe when I get it off my chest, I can actually try to pursue her.

Maybe.

"We need to head on out," I mumble. The dreaded time is drawing near. At the rate we're going, we aren't going to be getting to the Town Square any too early.

"Okay," Prim whispers. The happiness immediately drains from Katniss' face as well as any trace of color. "Do you want to eat the cake on the way?" I look at the huge, flowery pink and white cake in her arms – too big to hunker down within a few minutes – or at least not long enough to savor the taste of hard work. She's put too much effort on this, and I know it would hurt her if I didn't eat it – and if a Peacekeeper saw it with us, they'd probably take it for themselves without another thought.

Katniss then steps in, "Why don't you leave it here, Prim?" she suggests. "You two can come back for it after the Reaping." When _we _come _back._ The way she says it makes me believe for a minute that there is no way that either one of us is in danger. I smile and nod at her in thanks.

"We will," Prim nods. She clutches my hand and leads me towards to door shouting her good byes to Katniss.

Katniss waves to us, but looks directly at me when she says quietly, "Good luck." She must know. She must know about all of my slips – you didn't have to be a genius to guess that I'd had to take out some. Most of the Seam kids had to.

I say a quick prayer in my head as we walk down the brick roads to the square.

I ask God to keep Prim safe. I ask Him to watch over the tributes from 12 during the Games, whoever they may be this year.

And lastly, I ask Him to take care of Katniss – keep her safe and keep her happy, regardless of what happens today. I doubt she's taken out any tesserae. Her family seems relatively wealthy – but you never know.

Solemn faces march into the square – almost looking like soldiers heading into a battle they know they're going to lose.

I see mothers and fathers kissing their children's heads, and I know Prim sees it too because she cringes – probably wondering why her own mother doesn't do that. You'd think that she'd at least make an attempt to see her –wish her luck, but she's probably still nestled in her pile of blankets wallowing in pity.

As we approach the twelve year old section, I give Prim's hand one last squeeze and her head one last kiss.

"You'll be okay," I say. "I promise."

I know from the look in her eyes that she wants to protest, but she keeps her mouth shut in a firm line.

And with that, I turn away from the most important thing in my life and head towards my age group, leaving her alone with the possibility of uncertain death.

As more people trickle in, I spot Katniss walking next to Delly Cartwright, who appears to be animatedly telling a story. From the little murmurs I can make out, – her story seems to involve boys. Katniss nods politely and gives a sincere smile. It's so genuine, it stirs something warm in my chest.

She's comforting Delly – in these final moments before the Reaping she's letting her drone on about killer arms and blue eyes, something that Katniss could care about less from the looks of it, but she's not about to stop Delly's mind from escaping for a little while.

Then her eyes meet mine, a misty grey color that have invaded my dreams for years. She mouths something to me; something that I can only guess is,

"She'll be okay."

And then, I feel hope.

"Good morning District 12!" The living rainbow, Effie Trinket, sings over the town's speakers. She's always been way too perky, and today it affects me more than normal, makes me sick. "How are you all doing this lovely day?"

No one answers, but I do hear a sarcastic snort come from Katniss, a few people glancing her way. Delly elbows her, and I can't help but smile a little – until I catch Prim's shy stare.

I nod at her, promising her things I wish I could guarantee.

She introduces Haymitch Abernathy – only remaining victor from 12 and the town drunk. He makes an inappropriate comment into the microphone before flopping into his chair half asleep.

They play the anthem then, and make us sit through the video like they do every year – we even get to see some of the most gruesome Victory deaths again. I shut my eyes and try to forget that it could be Prim or Katniss up there – even me.

"I just love that," Effie sighs at the closing line of the footage. I don't even know what the last line was – always tuned out, busy in my own thoughts before it was finished.

"Now, let's mix things up this year, shall we? How about our gentlemen first, hmm?" she smiles and then trots her way over to the boys' bowl as best as she could in her killer heels.

She fishes her hand around in the bowl until she catches a name that she deems appropriate. She unfolds the slip in her manicured claws dramatically before clearing her throat.

She reads the name, and I hear it, but it doesn't mean anything to me. I don't recognize the name.

People are turning to look at me, watching my face, I guess.

"Peeta Mellark? Are you out there?" Everyone's stares are turned towards me now. But I can't think, and when I do, all I can filter through is how it isn't me– I'm not Peeta Mellark. I want her to do a recount, even though it isn't possible. I wanted to argue that I wasn't him – because at the moment, it would really suck to be Peeta Mellark.

I feel my feet carry me to the stage. I hadn't told them to do that, but they seemed to know what to do, so I trusted them. Sad, pitiful eyes meet mine – I even receive a few claps on the shoulder.

Effie extends a hand to me, welcoming warmly. Her cartoony, bubblegum hair and lips even more disturbing up close.

"Hello, Peeta," she grins. "What an honor!"

I wanted to vomit at the comment, but she's already moved on to the lady's bowl – Peeta Mellark's name already forgotten.

My head's clouded with shock. It's like nothing could penetrate the cushioned wall my body had set up around my mind to protect it.

Except for the name Effie reads.

Primrose Mellark.

My brain knows who that is.

It's my sister.

I was in the Hunger Games with my sister.

And Effie made sure to point it out, jabbering about how amazing it was that a brother and sister would both be competing in the Hunger Games – especially without volunteering, how this was the most exciting Reaping yet.

I convinced myself I was dreaming. The bile in my throat had begun to rise dangerously. I dug my nails in my palms hard enough that they were bleeding, but I couldn't wake up. I was stuck in this horrible dream world.

This was worse than my nightmares. Far worse.

_I_ was in the _Hunger Games_ with my _sister_.

Not only would she probably die, I might be the cause of it.

NO.

I'd never be the cause of her death – I'd die protecting her, but what happens when I die, who will save her then?

Weak, tiny Prim - the twelve year old with the golden curls and the beautiful smile who baked me a cake for my last reaping, - the one who cries when she eats breakfast because she's so thankful.

I can't do this. I can try though. I can save her, - I just have to stay with her – maybe we'll hide it out. Find somewhere safe in the arena if we're lucky. I can kill – maybe. If I can forget that they're people, just for a second then maybe I can do it.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

Effie stopped talking.

It'd really been only a few seconds since Prim's name was called, she hadn't even reached the stage yet, but a dark haired beauty was practically throwing herself in front of Prim, avoiding the clutches of nearby Peacekeepers.

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

Prim started sobbing then as the woman cupped her cheeks, crouching down beside her.

"Shh, Prim it's okay. Go find my dad," she whispered to her.

"NO!" Prim's cries wracked her entire body. I saw the woman swallow down the emotions, her throat bobbing.

"Prim, it's okay, go find Dad."

Out of nowhere Madge appears, she must have been watching closely. Her eyes are glazed over as she scoops up a sobbing Prim into her arms. She continues to shriek for me – for both of us.

"PEETA! KATNISS!"

I try not to cry, I really do. I feel one slip free down my cheek, but that is all I allow to get by.

Katniss is yanked up stage by Peacekeepers and thrown next to me.

My guardian angel.

The lump in my throat is impossible to swallow now.

"A volunteer!" Effie announces. She starts applause, but no one joins in. Instead, the spectators gradually respond by pressing three fingers to their lips and holding them up to us.

It was an old funeral gesture.

Fitting.

Effie seems peeved by the action and continues while the entire District salutes the living going to die.

"What is your name, dear?"

She stares at the ground in front of her, not seeing as she says, "Katniss Everdeen."

My Katniss.

Effie's eyes widen, "No relation?"

Katniss shakes her head.

"Well," she murmurs. "That's very brave of you." She says this quietly, almost as if she doesn't want to microphone to pick it up. Effie quickly plasters the huge grin back on her face before returning to her duties.

"Go on now! Shake hands, you two!" she beams, shoving us closer.

Katniss' eyes are clearly haunted, filled with tears of her own, yet she does not shed them.

And instead of shaking hands with her, I pull her into my arms, gasps erupting from all corners of the arena.

Tributes did not embrace.

But then again, this was no ordinary tribute.

This was the girl with the bread.

The girl with the bread, once again, was saving my family.

And now I was being thrown into a death arena with her.

I whisper into her ear every thank you and apology that my brain could muster out, the ones I had been suffocating inside of me all these years. My heart breaks when I feel her let out a shaky breath, obviously controlling tears.

And when we pull away from the hug, she takes my hand in hers and squeezes like she had done five years ago when I was starving in the rain.

She was comforting me. Telling _me _that it was going to be okay.

Damn angel.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! I present to you the 74th Annual Hunger Games District 12 tributes! Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"

No one claps.

I don't know why I think of this now, but I do.

I think of Prim's cake – and how it'll sit on the counter of the bakery, never to be touched by the person it was given to.

And then I think of Katniss, her hand still clutched tightly in mine.

The Baker's Daughter doesn't deserve this. She deserves to grow old with some Merchant boy – have kids, make cakes, be happy. But instead is being sentenced to death.

She _volunteered. _It's not even like Prim was her sister or anything – sure they were close. Prim was always down at the bakery, learning the trade, but nothing like a family member.

She was willing to die for Prim.

It is then I promise myself I will do the same.

I am willing to die for Katniss Everdeen.

**Note: This chapter took me several days to write – still not where I wanted it, but I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Next chapter is the trip to the Capitol where they may be a lil' bit of...you know...**

**HAND HOLDING.**

**DUN DUN DUN.**

**I want to thank everyone for the reviews and favorites! They mean a lot to me, being a first time writer and all.**

**Reviews are highly appreciated!**

**Peeta says that if you review; he'll hug you and whisper things in YOUR ear ;D**

**See y'all Monday!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for your Reviews! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to see people taking interest in my writing \ ^_^ / Now, I'd just like to make a little disclaimer before I let you have it – the TRAIN RIDE.**

******I know I said Monday – but I'm not going to be getting to a computer tomorrow :P**

**I do not own Hunger Games. There, I said it. I thought it would rude if I did not mention that :-) And I realize that I'm not the only writer here on Fanfiction that has written a Peeta-Katniss role reversal story, and I would like to state that if you see any similarities, they are UNINTENTIONAL. And I apologize if I do.**

**Lastly, I AM trying to stick to HG– but I'm getting carried away. There will be Interviews and alliances – but opinions may change and so do names – maybe even extra SCENES? Maybe. ;) I'm putting a lot of little twists into this story that do not match any trends in the HG book.**

**Now, I'm shutting up.**

**Here's the train ride. ENJOY**

The next moments are nothing but a blur. People snap pictures of Katniss and me as we walk by, surrounded by a thick wall of Peacekeepers escorting us to say goodbye to our families. Katniss has yet to let go of my hand, and I'm thankful for that. Every step away from the square feels heavier and heavier. I feel as though she's practically dragging me along now. The muscles in my knees keep locking up in protest – they know that we are heading the wrong way. Home is the complete opposite direction.

But I'm not going home.

I'm going to the Capitol.

We're thrown into separate rooms. I hear Peacekeepers addressing a group of visitors with regulations and standards about visiting through the door– they have four minutes. The first person to bust through the doorway is Prim, crashing into my arms – a fresh, new wave of tears in the works.

"Peeta –," she begins, but I shush her. I stroke her hair as she cries. I see my mom slink in from the hallway, looking guiltier than I'd ever seen anyone in my life.

Good. She should be.

When Prim pushes away from my hold, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a primrose for me. She presses into my hand with a sniffle and says, "Just- just try to win, okay? If you can?"

I nod. "Of course."

"You can hunt," she continues, rubbing away tears. "You're smart and fast. I bet the others aren't as quick as you."

I smile at the comment and aid her in wiping her cheeks. "I bet you're right, little duck. I'll try to win. For you." She gives me a small smile and throws herself back at me. Her next words are hard to make out, but I do, even muffled by my shoulder. "Keep Katniss safe?"

I swallow, knowing that it would be hard to keep both promises – maybe even impossible.

But I mean it when I respond, "Always."

My mother moves closer then, wringing her hands.

"Is that the girl? The one who – who volunteered?"

I can't control the narrowing of my eyes.

"Katniss," I snap. "Yes. She volunteered for Prim."

Her shoulders sag, looking more exhausted than ever. I'm not sure if she even tried to comb her hair this morning. I remove Prim from my grasp to stand in front of my mother, looking into her eyes – her hollow, dead, blue eyes and I snarl.

"You can't keep doing this. You have to wake up. I'm not here to save her anymore – Katniss isn't here anymore. You got it?" I wanted to add that she should start being a mom for once, but the tears that welled up at the brim of her eyes made me stop myself.

"Don't cry," I beg, hugging her too. "Don't – Don't cry –,"

A rude knock on the door interrupts. "Time's up."

I kiss my mother's cheek, and then Prim's before the Peacekeeper brutally throws them out. I shudder at the thought that this was the last time I'd see them. I scream an 'I love you' through the door, and hear muffled one in reply from Prim.

And now, I'm alone again.

But not for long.

Madge stumbles through the door, looking healthy and terrified.

"Peeta, I'm so sorry –," she whispers, hugging me to the point where it's hard to breath. She's close to losing it – but she doesn't let go.

"Don't apologize," I say coldly. "There's nothing you could do."

She nods – she knows that. We all know that, and if I'd been a girl and she was still in the Reaping age – I knew she wouldn't have hesitated to step in.

But I wasn't a girl, and Madge was over eighteen. No use worrying about 'What If's.'

"You can do this, Peeta," she pulls away after an awkwardly long silence. "You're better than you think. Find some knives, maybe even a bow – you're good with those," she notes.

"But what if they don't have them, Madge," I stress. "You remember the 68th Games – nothing but flails." I'd sat with her at my house, cringing every time I watched a tribute be brutally bludgeoned to death. The Gamemakers found the deaths boring due to lack of variety, and since then, they've made sure to include at least more than two types of weapons, but that didn't mean anything. They could hand out sticks and rocks for all I know.

"Then _make _them, dummy," she snorted. "I taught you how."

"But they're _people_. I can't – I mean, I won't –,"

She puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping my rambling.

"There will be a time and a place in that arena when they won't be people anymore," she whispers. "You've seen it. They'll turn into animals, acting on pure survival instinct. Keep you head level and think of them as the way they are. Animals. You can kill animals."

It was unbelievably cold of her to say – yet it was true. I could kill animals – and these people would be trying to kill me, too. Maybe I could let go and forget –

But then after the Games are over – the slim chance that I win – what will happen? I'll live with an aching, heavy soul for the rest of my life knowing that there are families grieving somewhere.

Katniss' family.

"Time's up."

Madge gives me a small smile and grasps my hand in hers.

"Come home."

"I'll try," I let go of her hand to give her one last hug. "Don't let them starve, Madge."

She breathes in reply, "I won't."

And then I'm alone with my thoughts again, ready to pull my hair out.

Katniss –

I can't even begin to wrap my head around what she's done – She'd done something that no one in a million years would do. It wasn't fair, none of this was fair. She was my guardian angel – my sweet, caring angel.

Angels couldn't die...could they?

"We have to leave."

A short, stocky Peacekeeper barged in, holding the door open for me.

And so we left, escorted hurriedly by Peacekeepers to the train station. It all happened so fast that I didn't have time to think about what I was doing and where I was going. Everything was clouded. I felt like I was floating - I wanted to fly away –, the only thing keeping me tethered to this earth was the touch of Katniss' hot hand squeezing mine tightly, so I stayed.

We were prodded into a diner cabin. The car alone was fancier than anything in The Seam and most of the Merchant's land. It had a glass chandelier and an extravagant rug that lay under the mahogany table. It wreaked of Capitol design – especially since the color scheme in here seemed to be a demented green. I think it was made to be comforting – maybe reflect the lush forests of 12, but it made me think of garbage cans and dead Christmas trees.

Katniss noticed my distress and stroked the back of my hand with her thumb, smiling. "At least it's not pink."

And I chuckled. It felt...wrong. Was it okay to laugh? I wasn't going to be laughing in a few days – maybe not even breathing.

_Enjoy the little things, Peeta. While you can._

Like now for instance, even in all this mess, I still couldn't help the sensation of butterflies in my stomach at the thought – Katniss Everdeen was holding my hand, and hadn't let go yet. How many times have I dreamed of this kind of moment? Drawn it on notebook paper during History where I sat behind her?

I'd never drawn scenery around us, but now I can safely picture it in my head.

The two of us in a diner car on the way to the Capitol.

Picture perfect.

Effie shuffled in then, Haymitch trailing behind, groaning and bumping into things in the process. Her eyes were sad and tired – even I could see that behind the pounds of gummy makeup. I wonder how easy this job is for her? I can only assume the paychecks are good, being a Capitol occupation and all. But I can't help but think about how she must feel after the Games are done.

It's no secret that 12's don't typically last, especially merchants. In inner districts, like 2, that are close to the Capitol, they train for this kind of thing. The Hunger Games are exciting there – honorable even. Kids constantly volunteer, but not for the reasons that 12's do. It's probably hard to see the kids you care for before the Games get slaughtered on television.

Then, I remember that I'm one of her kids – that I might get slaughtered.

I could hunt already; it gave me a fair advantage. But Katniss wouldn't know what to do with a bow and arrow if she was handed one, and my chest tightened at the thought.

How long would she last? Would I be able to protect her?

Effie laid hands on our shoulders, giving us a small smile.

"I'm so proud to have tributes like you," she said mostly to Katniss.

Katniss patted the hand that rested on her shoulder. "Thank you."

Effie cleared her throat, shoving away any emotions that must have been catching up with her. "Haymitch, here, will help you. He'll instruct you – give you tips for the arena." She walked over to where he was slumped over in his chair, practically drooling on himself and gave him a solid thwack on his head with her clutch. "Get up, you moron. Kids are here." And she stormed out.

Katniss' grip on my hand tightened unexpectedly. From the look on her face, I don't think she'd realized she'd done it. Her eyes were trained on Haymitch, who had slumped over to a bowl of fruit and at the moment, was having a blast trying to figure out how to peel an orange – grunting and even swearing at it, clearly more intoxicated than earlier today. In the midst of his issues, he glanced up at us, raising his eyebrow.

"So," he began, "You've been sucked into the Hunger Games. Congratulations." The last part is obviously sarcastic, his face twisted in an amused expression. He goes on, "Guess you're stuck with me." He bites down on his orange, not fully peeled and grimaces. "Skins don't taste good."

Katniss holds out her free hand for the fruit – Haymitch giving it up without hesitation

She's dropped my hand now, and the loss of contact makes the cabin seem suddenly cold.

Katniss peels quietly for a while and then says, "So, you got a strategy for us?"

"Yeah," he pauses to take a swig from the copper flash in his hand. "Don't die."

"That's not helpful," I bark, irritated.

"Well, excuse _me_, princess. I didn't realize we had royalty in our presence." He gives a dramatic bow, almost falling over in his drunken state. I see Katniss smile, eyes still focused on the orange which she had managed to rid of its skin.

She stretches her hand out to him – offering the orange up, but jerks it back when he grabs for it.

"Talk," she spits. "Oranges for secrets."

_Damn_. Who would have guessed Katniss was a dirty negotiator?

Haymitch pouts, not particularly effective for a man like him, but sits down with huff – agreeing.

"I like you, you know," he muses to Katniss. "You've got – _spunk_."

She raises an eyebrow at him, much like he did to us. "Yeah? And how will that work to my advantage in the arena?"

He rubs his hands over his face like it's supposed to sober him up and groans.

"Sponsors," he mumbles. "If you get people to like you, you live longer. They'll send you little goodies if you give them what they want." He leans in and whispers, "A good show."

She twists the orange in her hands contemplatively. "Okay –"

"Okay?" I hear myself say. "No, what else? There's got to be more!"

Haymitch glares at me. "Would you give me a minute to wake up?" he huffs. "And for your information, princess, there isn't – not really. When you get in there, you find yourself some water and shelter, maybe an ally. Other than that – you rely on strength and personality." He looks me up and down, "And if I had to guess, I'd say you're lacking in that second thing."

Katniss makes a sound of disgust. "He's kind to those who deserve it." Her eyes might as well be shooting actualdaggers at Haymitch.

The response must have caught Haymitch off guard because his mouth is hanging open. Maybe he isn't used to tributes giving him attitude like this, but then again, he probably hasn't met anyone like Katniss before.

I can tell by his face that whatever liking Haymitch had for Katniss is now gone.

I do have to admit, I'd heard more shocking things leave Katniss' mouth in the past five minutes than I'd heard in my entire life. Maybe there was more of a dark side to Katniss Everdeen than I thought.

She sounded pretty determined to fight this thing out – she didn't want to die first in the arena, which was for sure. No one does. But her plans for winning – ?

"Okay, now you're starting to piss me off, Sweetheart," he says, serious. He extends his hand to her. "Can I just have my damn orange back?"

She tosses it to him, his face lighting up slightly. He bites into it. Juice drips down his chin and onto his shirt – mixing with the booze stains already there. The sight is slightly upsetting in an animalistic way – like watching a dog that's been starved and beaten get his belly scratched for the first time in a long time.

He wipes his chin but misses a few strings of pulp. "You –," he points at me. "Are a real piece of work. You know that?" he sniffs lightly. "You better learn how to smile, or you're as good as dead." The words shouldn't sting, it's critical advice – but it does. I try to smile often as possible. The days are hard though, especially today, and right now, I'm not really feeling it.

"And _you_," he glares at Katniss. "Cut that out – whatever it is you're doing, because it's annoying. No one likes a bitch," he spits.

I open my mouth to argue, but it's Katniss that interrupts.

"_I _am _not _a bitch," she growls. "I'm just being clever and that makes you mad." Haymitch looks into his hand and frowns. "And Peeta does smile and treat people kindly. You just aren't really making a good _impression_, Mr. Abernathy."

"No one likes a _know-it-all_," he corrects. "You've got a pretty face, sweetheart. But being too intelligent doesn't look good. In fact," he brings his hand to his chin, thinking. "Pretending to be stupid might be endearing to sponsors – yet misleading to other tributes." His eyes narrow again. "Maybe you should try it out for size."

"Enough," I cut in. The bickering duo stares at me like maybe they'd forgotten I was here. "Those are terrible ideas. Katniss just needs to be herself. People will love her."

Katniss gives me a soft smile and I give one in return – I feel like we might actually be having a moment until Haymitch starts nagging again.

"Sure, they will, Princess," he takes another swig. "Just worry about yourself, okay?" And then he's gone, stumbling and mumbling away out of the room.

Katniss sighs – I can tell she's stressed. She sits down next to me on the couch with her face in her hands. "Well, that was pleasant," she chuckles without humor.

"I fear that this is the best we're going to get out of Haymitch," I sigh. She looks at me and shrugs – the beginning of a frown starts to settle over her soft features.

"Maybe," she looks down at my hands in my lap and takes one in hers again. My heart's beating like there's no tomorrow. "Or maybe he's just having an off day."

We certainly were.

It'd been maybe twenty minutes tops of me and Katniss sitting silently hand in hand when Effie marches back in. She looks more collected and calm than before. Maybe it's the lack of Haymitch. I know it's calmed me.

"Your rooms are in the next car," she says, pointing towards the door. "You can go change into new clothes if you'd like. Just be ready for dinner in an hour." Effie leads the way as we ghost behind her, peering into the rooms as we pass. The size of the train is absolutely ridiculous. It irks me to know that while these Capitol people are riding around in mansion trains that District 12 is living inside a crumbling world filled of starvation and disease.

Effie pushes a door open and tells me this room is mine. I go in to examine it, skeptical. The walls are a soft blue – as is everything else. The bed looks soft enough to sink into and never resurface, and the giant window on the far side of the room allows me to stare at the mountains outside. I'd always known they were there – but never before have I ever gotten to stare at them. They look really old from this stand point, even slightly menacing. They were the only thing separating us from the rest of the world.

I take my time redressing. A soft cotton shirt and comfortable pants are the first things I see at the top of the first drawer, and they match fine, so I put them on.

Katniss emerges at the same time as me, looking stunning in some yellow shirt-dress and hair spilling over her shoulders – something rare. She looks like she might not even be from twelve anymore – healthy and glowing.

And I can't stop staring at her. Not at all – not even during dinner, even when they bring out course after course of the most delicious food I've ever seen or tasted.

Effie and Katniss carry most of the conversation. Effie talks about all the breath-taking sights of the Capitol and how wonderful of an opportunity this is, even if for the wrong reasons.

And Katniss has quite the wicked sense of humor – they're mostly a bunch of commentary one-liners that get even poor, old Haymitch teary-eyed – but she tells all these stories about the bakery.

She tells the story of how she and her deceased brother, Gale, took two of her piglets from the pen outside and let them loose inside – but not before painting the numbers 1 and 3 on them, letting her mother run around frantically trying to find the pig number 2.

It took her seven hours to realize there never was a third one.

I can tell from her face when she mentions Gale's name that it's hard for her. I'd never met him really – I guess I'd heard stories from my mom about him, how much he was like his father.

It hurts me to see how badly she's still hurting, almost a decade later. So when I see her eyes get glassy, I squeeze her hand and she smiles for me.

Some of her stories of adventuring with Delly Cartwright shock me a little – and I'm not going to repeat them. Katniss played a pretty innocent role in most them. It was mainly her trying to rescue Delly from awkward confrontations with her admirers.

I hadn't realized how creepy Merchant boys were until now.

I don't think I will ever look at them the same again.

The dinner makes me forget where I am for a while, and it's nice. But the entire time Katniss is talking, I can't help but think about how I wished that I'd tried to court her somehow– and how this train symbolizes my cowardliness.

And now I'll never get to take her out on a first date. Call her my girlfriend. Properly introduce her to my mother.

Kiss her.

"What's your deal?" Haymtich asks, jabbing his fork at me. Katniss had excused herself from the table to take a shower, leaving me alone with Rainbow Lady and the Drunkard.

"What do you mean?"

"You were staring at her," his gaze darts over to Katniss' room. "It seems as though you maybe would like to eat something _else_ for dinner?"

I feel my face heat up. My hand clutches the fork so tightly in my fist I might be warping the metal.

"Haymitch –," Effie chastises. "Leave the poor boy alone. I'm sure he's tired."

He interrupts. "No, it's...good." Haymitch leaves it at that and stumbles over to mini bar to fill up his glass. "But you do seem tired, princess. Why don't you get some shut eye? Tomorrow we're talking strategies and you got a long day of makeovers ahead of you."

So I take his advice and lay in my bed, but I don't sleep, I think. I feel like I actually stayed awake the _entire _night.

The only thing that makes me think that I might have fallen asleep is a dream I had – of Katniss and me lying out in the sun in a meadow of flowers.

Yeah, I must have been asleep.

**I find myself running out of time and falling behind in the next chapter. Next update may be a while :P I'm currently in school right now. I had to take a summer course so I can fit my band and choir classes in...So, updates may not be as frequent.**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I feel as though the ending was rushed though, and it cut off too early – but hopefully I can give you more next time.**

**I heart Reviews...:-)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hiya everyone! Sorry it's been a while...a really long while :P School is killing me. Had to write a Term paper about flaws in our government (we have it better than you think. O.o It was hard to write about actually...I thought it'd be easy) heehee. **

**Anywayyyy...Here's the parade. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. I can't make any promises :P Enjoy! The girl and boy on fire!**

When we get off the train, we are immediately swarmed by crowds of people. Peacekeepers rush to keep us covered as best as possible, but we can still see their faces and hear their voices. Katniss manages to sneak a whisper in my ear, reminding me to woo the crowd; and of course, she has no trouble with it. Everyone is screaming our names – especially hers. A group of boys about our age dressed in ridiculous Capitol fashion scream for her. They want her phone number, some of her time. They want Katniss Everdeen in general and have no shame in screaming it. She gives them a flirtatious wave, and they nearly break each other's arms trying to claim it.

I feel a tinge of jealousy inside my chest, but I push it down. She's just working the crowd, like she should be. I don't try very hard – I don't want them to be on my side. I want them to love Katniss. More than me. I keep my gestures small and few - so when a girl close to Madge's age screams for me, I shoot her a wink and nothing more. She nearly collapses into her friend's arms and I want to scoff, but I catch myself. Right now, I am Tribute Peeta Mellark – charming, brave, quiet. I want them to like me, but not as much as my companion. And it seems as though my plan is working - Katniss has me beat. And I couldn't argue - I'd pick her over a grumpy brat like me. And when we are introduced to some of our stylists – I can tell that mine would have much rather had Katniss. She's a very green woman. Hair, smile, eyes, tattoos, and clothing – all stained green like a pasture or meadow.

"You're handsome," she states simply. "That's good."

The next moments are an embarrassing rush of clothes coming off – specifically my clothes. The room seems to have dropped 20 degrees and I fight off a shiver. I've never been particularly comfortable naked, but I've been able to deal with it. But as the green lady stands back, her green lips pursed and takes a look at me, I can't help but feel embarrassed. Her eyes are narrowed, almost like she's studying me. I have to clench my hands into fists not to cover myself up. "Not bad," she says lowly, and it makes me think that I wasn't supposed to hear it. "I'm Venia," and with that she extends her hand.

_So now she wants an introduction._

"Peeta."

"I know who you are," she dismisses. "Everyone knows who you are – for now. But we want to make sure they don't forget." She guides me over to lie down on a table and proceeds to roll out a long, silver table of torture devices – sparkling, sharp metal.

I attempt to sit up, but she shoves my shoulder back down. "I'm not going to gut you." She rolls her eyes. Her choice of words makes me cringe, and she notices, I think, because her next words are softer. "I'm just here to touch you up – make you look nice and squeaky clean for Portia." She scrubs every inch of my body, basically. I force myself to zone out – think of something other than the fact that I'm stark naked, being violated by a stranger. Eventually, I'm numb enough that no emotions can touch me. I'm just a shell of a man – being polished.

In my state of comatose, I can hear the faint snipping of scissors my right ear. I trust her to not make me look too freaky – but then I remember that I'm in the Capitol. Freaky is normal.

Then I wonder what they're doing to Katniss at the moment...

"Are you okay?" I hear her ask faintly, drawing me out of my tangent. "I know what I'm doing, you know." She cracks a smile – and I can tell under all the green that she is truly pretty. What a shame – to have a face turned hideous by fashion.

"Yeah," I lie. "Anxious about the parade." The last part is true. I'd been trying to avoid all Game related thoughts, but it's hard considering they're within days. The parade was supposed to be the easiest part of the whole ordeal – you get gussied up in a costume, smile, wave, look pretty and go eat a good dinner. But, you see, I'm from District 12. The costume was supposed to represent our District's trade – District 1 always had really extravagant wear, even 2.

12 had coal.

What were we supposed to do with that? Hopefully nothing as awful as I'd seen previous years. Most of the time, 12's were characterized in cheesy coal miner outfits, but there was one year where they paraded around the tributes butt naked – cloaked in nothing but black powder. If I had to choose, I'd rather deal with the over-played miner costume. I just pray that our stylists wouldn't be so bold.

"It's not hard," she murmurs. "They'll throw themselves at you when they see you in what Portia has in store. You'll be on _fire_," she chuckles. This gives me a glimmer of hope – that maybe I won't look ridiculous tonight – or naked. "Do you want to keep the scruff?" she asks, brushing a hand along my cheek. "It makes you look rugged; if that's the strategy you're going with. Is that what you and your mentor worked out?" I unconsciously run a hand along my cheek. No hair? I can't remember the last time I _didn't _have it. If I did keep it, would it affect the strategy Haymitch had been planning? Am I supposed to look strong?

You may not think it, but appearances matter a lot more than you'd guess. Attractive tributes get more sponsors. Katniss is a glowing angel without even a smudge of makeup, so I have no fear that she'll have trouble scraping up sponsors.

I, on the other hand, don't see myself that way. I've been told by many people that I'm good looking – whispering Merchant and Seam girls included. But was I the heart-breaking, earth-shattering, sponsor-nabbing looker that I needed to be? Would facial hair be a deciding factor in my strategy? Haymitch hadn't been dropping any hints as to what his plan for me was – maybe it'd be okay if I kept it...

No.

If I look rugged, like Venia said, I'm going to get targeted. I don't want to pose as a threat. The most that the other tributes have seen of me is the Reaping – where I cried and hugged my fellow tribute. That looks wimpy, and if I look squeaky clean and soft, maybe they'll leave me alone so I can keep tabs on Katniss.

"Shave it," I say through gritted teeth.

"Okay," she says hesitantly. And the sound of sharp metal and liquid being squirted just about makes my heart stop. I close my eyes and breath slowly in and out of my nose. The tickle of metal gliding over my foam covered cheeks and neck causes me to laugh. "Your face is like a forest!" she complains. "When's the last time you _shaved_?"

I chuckle, "Never shaved. Just trimmed." I peek under my closed eyes to see the look of disgust cross her face. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen a single Capitol man with facial hair yet – minus Snow and Crane. But their hair is so processed and unnatural is looks like another hair piece.

"That's ridiculous," she mutters, giggling lightly. "What does your girlfriend think of the hair?"

"I don't have a girlfriend."

Her eyes widen, looking doubtful. "But...I thought – what about Katniss?"

I raise an eyebrow. "What about her? We're just friends." Never before has the word _friends _sounded so dirty – empty. Not enough.

"You could have convinced me. That hug –," she swoons a little and bats her eyelashes playfully.

"You know, she _did _volunteer to go for my sister. What was I supposed to do? Just shake her hand? She fully knows that she could –"

Die.

But that word didn't seem to want to come out. The image of a pale Katniss Everdeen lying dead on the ground somewhere in a forest or a meadow – even a desert shreds my heart to a bloody lump and I squeeze my eyes tightly, fighting the pictures away.

_She's going to be fine_. _No harm will come to her_.

Venia gives me a sad smile and continues sawing away at my face forest. "Friends," she scoffs. Before I can argues she cut me off, "It looks like my work here is done. I'll send Portia in." She grabs my hand – and I think she's going to shake it, but she only squeezes it. "I'll see you in a few days. It's nice to meet you, Peeta," and struts out.

The woman I assume to be Portia flies into the room before the door even swings all the way close. She actually looks normal, pretty gold – but no freaky tattoos or odd colored lipstick. She might have even fit in back at 12. I don't recognize her to be a stylist from a previous year though, her face doesn't seem familiar.

She extends her hand out to me, completely unfazed by my nakedness. "Peeta," she breathes. "It's an honor to me you."

The comment was nothing that I expected, and I'm not quite sure how to respond, but I somehow manage to mumble out something that makes sense. "I don't know why you would. You're Portia."

She smiles. "Yes," and rolls her eyes. "Why wouldn't I be honored?" She hands me a robe from under the table I was spread out on and I slip it on. It's possibly the most comfortable article of clothing that's ever touched my skin, and I'm thankful to be covered up. Warm at last.

"We're 12," I say. Isn't it blatantly obvious? We're the losers of Panem.

"I _asked _for 12, Peeta."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why would you do that?"

Her smile grows impossibly larger. "When I watched the Reapings – I was completely enthralled by you and Katniss," she says, and I can tell by the way her eyes sparkle that she means it. "I've never seen someone _embrace _at a Reaping before." Portia then gets me off my feet and has me extend my arms out to my sides. She takes a couple measurements, doing a speedy and detailed job. By all the angles she taking, it makes me really start to wonder what she's planning to put me in. "And I think it'd be amazing to say that I was stylist for a winner," she says softly.

_She thought I could win. _

I wanted to protest – say that there was no way I was coming out. I wanted to say that I'd already given my life over to Katniss and was set on getting her out of that arena – regardless of the cost. But Portia cut me off, "Peeta – how do you feel about fire?"

* * *

I'm a rock.

I think...

Or...coal?

I really have no idea at this point – I feel dizzy, and I'm not even sure if I'm actually in my skin. The black body suit that I've been sewn into leaves little to the imagination and it's suffocating me like a boa constrictor – making my already nervous breaths even shorter.

I was going to be set on fire.

WHAT. That's...is that even legal here? Can you set your tributes on fire before they get in the arena? Portia and Cinna, both, had tried to explain to me that it wasn't real fire – a synthetic flame that would make us the talk of the whole nation. We even argued about it. They threw a bunch of big-worded scientific facts at me about how safe it was, trying to convince me to wear it.

My only argument was that fire was hot. And it would burn me.

I sounded pretty dumb, to say the least.

Haymitch escorted me over to the chariots, even slapping me on the back, saying comforting things that I'd never thought would come out of his mouth. He must have been drunker than I thought – but then again, he seemed to be walking in straight lines, but his fowl mouth also seemed to find its way back.

"Now," he began. "When you come into view, wave the shit out of them."

Okay.

"And wink at them goddammit! _Katniss _is winning the girls over! That should be you, princess!"

I nod, my speech suddenly gone because from behind Haymitch, I can see Cinna escorting Katniss towards us.

I see her round the corner to come stand by our chariot. In a word – she looks stunning, even with a terrified look on her face. The Capitol didn't lay a freaky hand anywhere on her. Her face looks as pure and wholesome as it did back in 12, except...livelier, if that's even possible. She radiates a healthy color – her eyes and cheeks accented by a rosy, gold blush. Her hair is mostly down, but twisted into intricate, spider-web like braids that have black bands weaving through them. I immediately know what is causing the look of terror on her face.

She throws herself at me and crushes me to her. I feel her cheek brush mine lightly when she whispers in my ear, "They're going to set my _hair _on fire."

I laugh. "It won't burn you. I promise." She buries her face into the crook of my neck and groans – obviously not the answer she wanted to hear. The excessive touching is not lost on me – was this a nervous habit?

"I knew you were going to say that. They _all _say that," she mutters. I rub her back. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing, never having a girlfriend and all, but it feels natural, so I just go with it. She needs to be protected right now – and it's the least I can do.

"Get ready," Haymtich lays a hand on my shoulder. "They're beginning," and then he leans in really close and whispers low enough for only Katniss and I to hear. "Remember what I said?"

"Wave the shit out of them."

"And?"

I sigh, "Win the ladies over?"

He pets my head. "Good girl. Knock them dead, you two!"

Cinna helps us up into the chariot, and I can't help but notice how his hands linger on Katniss. It makes bile rise in my throat to know that if her designers had been as open as mine, he'd surely seen her naked.

"You'll be okay," he says to Katniss, grasping her hand. He pulls out a wand type whisk and drags it across his arm, the fire igniting instantly. He then lights her headdress and then her cape, the glow touching her face. The flames are beautiful, delicate yet fierce – everything Katniss. She gasps a little when she sees it, and then smiles. And then full out giggles.

"They _tickle_," her nose scrunches. "They – aren't even hot."

Cinna winks, "I told you, silly girl."

He helps me, too. And she's right; they do kind of tickle – like a cat licking your fingertips, minus the wet part.

Katniss stares at me, eyes wide enough that I can see my flaming self reflecting in them.

"What?" I ask.

A non-Capitol blush graces her cheeks, one that's all hers. "Nothing," she mutters before clutching my hand in hers. "Don't let me fall?'

I shake my head. "Never."

The chariot starts with a jolt, and I feel the blood immediately rush from my face to my feet. I see black, fuzzy patches creep into my line of vision and my head begins to swim.

I wobble, I think, but Katniss grabs onto me fiercely. "You're okay," she soothes. "Don't lock your knees." I manage to shake out any tension in my joints before the gates of the Capitol open.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome the Tributes of the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" I can tell even from yards away that it's Caesar Flickerman announcing tonight. I hear him begin to comment on District 1's costumes – apparently they're very extravagant, as every year. Dazzling with pink and feathers. Ew. He goes down the line. I can tell he's bored by some of them – District 4 is fish related as always. The others are unoriginal as well. I basically zone out until I realize that 10 is leaving ahead of us.

I hear Katniss inhale deeply and it's shaky. Her eyes look glassy, and her lips are looking a bit pale. I squeeze her hand.

"Did I tell how you how beautiful you are?" the words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Her head whips towards me, her mouth dropped open slightly. "You should wear flames more often. They suit you." And the smile I'm rewarded makes my heart stop beating.

But the chariot jerks forward again, and it restarts.

This is it.

I am Peeta Mellark. I am the male tribute from District 12 in the 74th Hunger Games.

And I'm on fire. Literally.

The lights of the city are blinding, and the noise is deafening. It's overwhelming, but Katniss' firm grip keeps me here, reminding me of the promise to not let her fall.

People scream. And mean, _scream_. It's mainly a roar, but I can make words like, "12, Katniss, Peeta," but mostly "Everlark." They chant it over and over again. Everlark. The Capitol thought of us as a team. They were accepting that Katniss and I were a solid unit, working together in this – they wanted the both of us to do well. Caesar was ranting about our flames, calling us "The Spark of Panem."

"These are the best costume I've ever seen – truly a masterpiece! What a handsome pair of tributes!" he rambled, thrilled. His commentary companion agreed with him, and so did I. Katniss was radiant - beaming, blowing kisses, waving, stealing their hearts. They screeched and ate it up.

_Wave the shit out of them_.

Oh yeah.

I did my part, trying to keep up with her, so when I held up our joined hands – they crowd basically died of happiness. It was an amazing feeling – to control a crowd of people with the flick of a hand, to be adored for doing nothing but holding hands of a gorgeous girl. So, I did as the Capitol did.

I ate it up.

**Sooooo...WHAT'DYA THINK? :D Ain't Peeta a cutie?**

**Review? Pretty please? :-)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey...It's been a while. Again. :-( I'm really sorry, guys. Band camp started, and it's been eating up all my free time, that _and _a cello recital coming up...Eh :P**

**I also wanted to thank everyone who has taken the time to Follow/Favorite/Review this story! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THAT MEANS TO ME. It gives me the drive to write. So thank you! Seriously!**

**This is the Training arena. Rue and Thresh and Cato are introduced a little more, and Effie gets a heart attack...;)**

**Enjoy!**

The electric feel of Katniss' lips pressed against my cheek wakes me up this morning. It's startling almost – last time someone had done something comforting like that was when my mom was still 'alive.' Prim had even tried it a couple times, but it typically made me feel worse – such a young girl trying to comfort a bum like me when I should be consoling her.

This comfort, however, stirs something in my chest.

She brushes the hair off my forehead, beaming brightly – her hair in a general disarray from a good night of sleep – looking more beautiful than she had yesterday evening.

"Hi," she says in a small voice. "We need to get up."

I groan and flip over face down in the pillows. Katniss moans in mock frustration, giggles bubbling up. "Peeta, seriously," she whines. Then I feel something some press in between my shoulder blades – her cheek maybe? The vibrations of her voice on my spine confirm my suspicions when she speaks three horrible words. "Training is today."

Oh yeah. I forgot about that whole Hunger Games thing...

I flip over again onto my back. The previously large grin on her face is wiped off and replaced with a firm line, the skin between her eyebrows creased with worry. I reach up and run my thumb over it, smoothing it out.

She's stressed. I'd have to be blind not to see that. Everything about her speaks of unrelenting tension.

We were supposed to show off our abilities. Abilities that Katniss never had to develop. Maybe I could teach her? Was that allowed? I'd show her how to handle a knife, maybe a bow? She's smart; she'd catch on fast. Heck, by the end of the day, she might even have me beat...

Who am I kidding?

I've been hunting for years – at best, she'd learn how to grip and lock it, but learning to cope with wind and angles takes a _really_ long time. Something we don't have. When it came down to having to shoot someone in the arena, I doubt she'd be able to aim it in a moment of panic and adrenaline.

Knives...she could do knives, perhaps. Less skill required, I guess. If it was large enough, she'd only have to chuck it to do some damage. She works at a damn bakery! She might –

_Peeta, you're dumb. Just because Katniss works at a bakery_ _does not mean she knows how to throw knives._

"You'll be okay," I say. "I'll help you."

She shakes her head. "You don't have to do that."

"But I want to."

"Peeta –,"

"Rise and shine, Katniss! Peeta! Where are – GAH!" Poor Effie Trinket – catching her two tributes practically on top of each other in the same bed. Oh, the horror. She cups her hands over her eyes and stomps her foot. "Do you two at _least _have clothes on?"

My face flushes wildly and Katniss rolls her eyes. "Yes, Effie. I just came in to wake Peeta up." _Very nicely, _I add mentally. She giggles at my blood filled cheeks.

"Well," Effie huffs, "Breakfast is ready. Get dressed. You have a big day." I see her shake her head once more and move along, looking completely beside herself.

Katniss and I turn to stare at each other. I know my face is still beet red, and hers is slightly flushed – and she's biting her lip, trying not laugh, but a loud snort escapes her. We both lose it. Some reason the fact that when she laughs she snorts, makes her that much more endearing.

She sighs, collecting herself. "Come on," she holds out her hand to me. "I'm hungry."

We are met by Effie and Haymitch in the kitchen. Haymitch looks like he had a rough night – the circles under his eyes being a dead give away of booze consumed after the parade. He manages to crack a smirk when he sees us walking hand in hand. He motions for us to come forward and sit by him.

"Good morning, Princesses," he chuckles. "You ready to talk strategies?"

I groan, "It's too early."

"Well, we have to do it sooner or later. We're running out of time. I thought this morning was appropriate – with Training Day and all." He looks down at his flask and takes a quick swig. He clears his throat. "The touching," he begins, and I flush, already knowing where this is going. "It's good. Keep that shit up, because the Capitol has been eating it like crazy. Because if there's one thing the Capitol likes more than children hacking each other to death, it's romance."

I nod like I understand – but I don't. I mean, I _understand _how romance will help us, but I don't get where, how, or why all the touchiness started. Katniss and I hadn't been exactly _close _friends before the Reaping, but we had talked, shared smiles and laughs. If I was being honest with myself, I hadn't really initiated much besides the hug on stage – Katniss had been mainly pulling the weight. Of course I'd never complain. It was sort of dream come true for me, but all the while confusing.

Maybe Katniss had been one step ahead of me and Haymitch this whole time – knowing what the Capitol wanted. Was this all an act? But she was doing it now, while we were eating breakfast in privacy. She was willingly clutching my hand in hers, juggling eating a bowl of cereal and stroking the back of my hand with her thumb like it was completely normal. It sent my mind spinning. Would I spend the remainder of my life deciphering the romantic actions of Katniss Everdeen when I should be thinking about the arena?

Probably.

"Secondly," Haymitch continues. "Don't prove yourselves here. Make them think you're easy. They're less likely to hunt you down if they don't see you as a threat." That made sense. "Lastly keep close to one another." When he says this, he stares directly at me, like it was specific directions on my part. "Effie will be working with you, Katniss. Princess, you're with me." With that, he rises from his chair and places a hand on my shoulder. "Join me for dinner tonight, my lady?" I want to roll my eyes, but the action is so..._un-Haymtich _I can't resist raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Sure thing."

"Good luck today. And remember – save it for the arena. Have fun in there. Play with some new toys – _flirt_." He gives a sarcastic grin and leaves us alone with Effie who doesn't quite seem up to talking – suddenly interested in her eggs. Katniss drops my hand, and I can tell from the distance look in her eyes, she isn't feeling great.

Haymitch's absence creates an awkward silence that pushes me into making conversation, something I'd typically never do.

"Are you excited?" I ask Katniss. Her eyes glance up from her bowl and gaze up worriedly at me.

"Sure," she breathes, a tremor. "Maybe they'll have a cake baking station."

I chuckle, "You never know. You could design the first ever cake bomb in the Hunger Games."

She replies with a tiny smile. "I wish I was that clever when it came to engineering. Maybe I can just frost them to death." Her leg begins to anxiously jitter up and down. "You'll do fine, though – You'll be fine," she says to me, stumbling over her words. I place a hand on her bouncing leg, stilling it.

"You will, too," I murmur into her ear, "I'll protect you," and I with that I stand up from the table, finished – but not before kissing the spot I whispered into.

The training arena is nothing like I'd imagine. In person, it's menacing. Everything is cold and darkly lit, making it seem almost as a dungeon. There are stations everywhere, many with sharp objects I'm not sure how to use. There are weights of various sizes that seem to have attracted the stares of several Careers. My sights are not on the weights, though. My eyes are drawn to the sparkling archery set and targets over in the corner. It's calling for me –

Katniss and I follow Haymitch's rule of hand holding well, arriving connected at the fingers – tributes turning to stare at us. Katniss holds her head high, looking extremely confident, even _intimidating_, their gazes not fazing her one bit.

After an introduction of sorts made by a harsh woman, we are set on our ways to do as we please.

I drag Katniss towards the archery station, set on showing her some skills. She catches on and eyes me warily. "Remember what Haymitch said, Peeta – no showing off."

"I'm not going to show off," I correct. "I'm going to teach you." Her eyes bug out and she shakes her head back and forth frantically.

"I might hurt someone –,"

"Nonsense," I scoff. "You'll do fine. Especially with a great teacher like me." I shoot her a wink and her eyes cast down at her feet, heat rushing to her face.

I immediately grab one of the arrows stacked neatly against the wall. They're heavier than the ones I'm familiar with, probably because the ones back in 12 are home-made and _not _designed to kill humans. The staff is pretty enough. Its string is tight and it grips well, and it's easy to aim for the most part. Katniss eyes the bow with twinkling eyes, a dreamy glint to them. I hold it out to her.

"Want to try?"

She bites her lip, hesitating. "I shouldn't."

"Really," I interrupt. "I'll help."

As I get closer to her, my brain splits in two directions – one set on helping Katniss, and one set on pleasing..._Haymitch._

I lock my fingers around the string, pulling the arrow with it and let it fly. I make sure to let it him towards the edge of the target, as to not attract any attention.

Katniss' eyes narrow at me not convinced.

"You did that on purpose."

I shrug. "Your turn?"

She holds her hand out for the bow and I give it to her willingly. She tries to mimic the positions I'd just demonstrated with, and looks at me lost. "So...like this?" Her fingers shakily grasp the string with wrong fingers and her grip around the staff is too tight – even if just from nerves.

I shake my head. I move to stand behind her and take her right hand in my, reestablishing her fingers' grip and taking my sweet time with it. The tributes are watching us – I can tell from the corners of my eyes. Good.

"Loosen your left hand," I instruct, tapping her stiff arm. She does, eyebrows knitted in concentration. I lay my right hand on top of her and draw it back with mine. "Keep your elbow tucked in," I tell her. "The arrow will shoot straighter." She adjusts herself and looks back over her shoulder at me, eyes dancing. The District 2 boy, Cato, is full on glaring at us to my left, so I lean down and whisper the last part and prays that it looks intimate. "And let it fly."

It's speedy, and it goes straight, hitting the target just below my last shot. The smile I receive from Katniss is better than the wake up call I got this morning.

"I did it!" she squeals and jumping up and down.

"Told you!" I badger, nudging her shoulder. She throws her arms around me, and nuzzles her face into the crook of my neck. I can feel her smile – and I can feel it when she presses her lips to my skin in a faint kiss.

While I try to play it cool, like this is something we do often, I can't. This is not something we do often – this is something I've dreamed of for as long as I can remember late at night when I've had a bad day and need a good thought to help me fall asleep. This is something I never dared to draw on a piece of notebook paper in fear she would notice and freak out.

And when she pulls away from our embrace, she searches my eyes, a small smiling still playing along her face. "Thank you," she murmurs.

I nod, the frog in my throat eating my words.

Behind my shoulder, something catches her eye, making them light up like stars. "Is – is that a _camouflage _station?" she tears herself from my arms, galloping away from me to a long table of paints and plants from what I can make out.

I sighed in relief that she found something that was in her element. No one seemed to be as enthused by the art sets as Katniss, and I hoped that no one would give her any trouble if I let her out of my sight for a few minutes. I wanted practice.

A table of knives was sprawled out a few feet away from the archery kits, gleaming in its lethal glory. I smiled at the nostalgic rush of home and picked one up. I twirled it around in my hand, feeling its weight and balance – these were the like the set I had back home, light and quick – very capable of damage.

I chucked one carelessly at the target. It stuck towards the middle and I found that to be close enough. If the ones in here were like the ones in the arena, I'd be fine.

"That's really good," a deep voice commented.

"Thank you! I frost cakes back home."

"You a baker?"

"Yeah, my family is."

My eyes darted over towards the sound of polite conversation. The dark boy from 11, Thresh, I think, was chatting to Katniss. He wasn't quite staring her down like she was prey, but with fascination, _admiration _maybe.

I wasn't sure if I should walk over there or not, but before I could decide, a pair of jealous feet were carrying me towards the jolly couple.

"Hey," I greeted, tightly. My eyes darted down towards Katniss' hand, now completely disguised as tree bark very convincingly.

"Peeta!" she beamed, waving her wooden hand at me. "Check this out!" she laid her hand flat against one of the trees assembled next to the tables, her arm vanishing.

Holy shit.

Maybe I could hide her? Until the Games were over?

"Wow," I breathed. "That's _incredible,_ Katniss."

She giggled. "Thanks."

I stole a glance at Thresh, sizing him up. He didn't say anything to me, just stared back. His eyes were almost as dark as the rest of him, serious yet slightly warm. More importantly though, he was _huge_.

"HEY!" I heard an angry shriek bellow from across the gym. The sound of metal hitting floor drew everyone's attention towards Districts 1 and 2. "Who the _hell_ took my knife!" It was Cato and he was furious. The veins in were violently protruding and his face was almost purple in rage. "Was it you?" He shoved against District 1, Marvel, testing him.

"No man, I swear." He held his hands up.

"Who the hell has my knife?"

The soft chime of sweet giggles caught my attention my above. A dark creature hung from the ceiling, eyes sparkling mischievously. She had to be about Prim's size, maybe _smaller_. And she was only dangling was the rafters.

Thresh chuckled quietly beside me. "That's Rue," he said, his voice filled adoration. "She's trouble." And he didn't mean it like she was a threat.

But when another loud scream erupted from Cato, followed by more breaking noises – I knew that there was trouble and someone here _was _a threat.

**I had wished to write more, but I felt the need to get this up _right away_. So Haymitch's dinner with Peeta will be the next chapter. It'll be pretty short too, I'm afraid. I promise the Interviews will be at least 4k though. I won't cheat you out there :-)**

**Reviews are adored! Almost as much as Rue:3**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone! Thank you so much for the Favorites/Follows/Reviews! Love you all! Here's Peeta's scene with Haymitch during dinner. Their main course tonight? Strategy with a side of deviation. \^_^/**

My hands are sweating really badly.

Gross.

I'm puzzled as to whether or not I should knock on Haymitch's door – God knows what I could see, but he's expecting me _now_.

So I let myself in.

He's standing over a little table he's set up in the middle of the enormous chamber with steaming food piled high. He doesn't tear his gaze away from the glass of brand-less alcohol he's pouring himself, but he smirks lightly – not a sarcastic one.

"Ever heard of knocking, Princess?"

"You knew I was coming."

He nods toward the seat opposite of him, inviting me in. Shaking the bottle in hand, he looks up at me finally, acknowledging my presence. "Care for a glass?" he chastises.

"I'm not much of drinker," I say. I'd had a few tastes from Madge's hand in my very early teen years. Every once in a while during the winter time, on those especially cold mornings after we'd collected our game, she'd sneak me booze in the woods. "Just to feel alive," she'd say. "You'll feel warmer. I promise." So I'd taste it, grimace at the sting in my throat, and proceed home stumbling, but ultimately, warm.

Staring at the glass in Haymitch's hand, I can't help but wonder if it tastes like the stuff from long ago and if it'd still give me the warm feeling. So I shrug, "But maybe I could use one."

Haymitch chuckles darkly while filling my cup. "I knew you had to be a drinker. With those scowl lines, I'd take it life's been getting rough with you?" He sips knowingly out of my glass before handing it to me.

I frown. "I don't drink," I say defensively. "Or, I haven't for a while."

"Can't imagine mommy dearest liking that idea."

"She doesn't care about anything," I say coolly. "And she didn't know. A _friend_ let me sample."

Haymitch snorts. "_Friend_," he rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right. Some girl try getting you under the covers?"

"_Madge _is a big sister to me. She was just trying to let me live a little. December is a little chilly outside at four in the morning." I swallow it whole, and it doesn't taste like the stuff from home. It's much sweeter – perhaps strawberries. I can't tell if I like it or not.

It's his turn to scowl. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your pity," I spit. "I just want another drink." I hand him my glass back which he fills up willingly. "I feel like tonight isn't going to be as dandy as I prayed it would be."

He eyes me cautiously. "What makes you say that?"

I roll my eyes. "You're trying to soften me up with sweet rum and polite conversation. Last time I checked, you weren't a pansy."

Haymitch cackles pretty loudly, his whole body shaking with laughter. "I'm glad you think so, Princess." He gestures for me to sit down again and I do this time. I nurse my next drink slowly, enjoying the sweetness.

The next moments are followed by mouth-watering food and companionable silence, much like the stops in conversation I have with Katniss. The type of silence where there are no urgent needs to fill the gaps with meaningless words.

But when he finally does crack the silence, his words are soft. "But I do have some things I need to say."

I swallow the bit of soup that I'd scooped up and stare at him. How bad was this going to be?

"You're in love with her."

There's no need for clarification – we both know who he's referring to.

I nod. A heavy lump starts to rise in my throat.

And if it's possible, his next words are even quieter, pained and gentle. "And we both know that she lacks...the _skills_ necessary to defend herself in the Games."

This, also, doesn't really need my confirmation, but I nod anyway.

"But you do," he says forcefully. "You _can _win. You're a fighter. You're strong, Peeta." He actually saying my name tells me that he's dead serious. "I saw the way you looked at her that first on the train. I know that you're completely ready to throw away everything and slit your own throat if that means getting her home."

This, too, doesn't require confirmation, but I've stopped nodding and started listening fully.

"You, Peeta, could give District 12 a victor this year," he convinces, and I'm ready to protest, even get up and leave – that me leaving Katniss there wasn't an option, he stares me down. "But," he breathes. "I think I know how to save her."

I freeze.

"How?"

"I've got you two playing this whole "_possibly in-love_ couple tragically thrown into Hunger Games" thing up. And the Capitol is loving every second, trying to figure out if you're just friends or if there is something more hidden beneath the surface." His gaze bores in my eyes and I can't look away. "Well," he breaks it, refilling his glass. "I think maybe it's time for 'The Boy on Fire' to profess his love."

I feel my heart beating in my ears. Holy Shit.

But...that's...too soon. I just – I can't... "When?"

"Three nights from now – at the interviews."

Sudden pools of black start to creep their way into my vision. Am I seriously going to pass out? Maybe it's the booze...

"Live. In front of all of Panem?"

He nods. "Yes," he rises from his chair. "You know how absolutely torn the audience will be? Hating that they have to send two star-crossed lovers into a death arena where only one will _possibly _return?" I can't react. "They'll _loathe _it.'

"She'll be desired by all – sponsors wanting to keep her alive for you. They'll send her anything he heart desires I'm sure." He pauses. "That's step 1. Step 2 is for when you get in the arena. You've done an okay job with hiding your abilities in training, but from now on, don't touch _anything_, got it? Even if it's a flirty archery session with your woman." The term makes my face flush, but I'm hanging so heavily onto his every word, I don't care.

"So when you get into that arena, get the careers the _hell _away from her. That means, the day after tomorrow, when you go into training again, make sure they _remember _you. If you get a high enough score, they'll just _have _to add you to their pack. That's good, join them. Be their ally. You want them to trust you.'

"But as it happens every year, there will come a time and place when your career pack will turn on one another. Watch for signs so you can get the hell out of there – or better yet. Kill them. That would be best, but I know _I _wouldn't have the stomach for it."

Oh yeah, I'd have to kill eventually. Just thinking about makes me sick...

"After you leave the Careers, it's up to you to find Katniss or not. It's your choice. I'm fairly certain that she'll have a strategy figured out. She may not be skilled, but if she's not clever and stubborn then shoot me dead now." He chuckles, breaking the seriousness of the moment. That's all he has to say – I can tell. I don't say anything, I just ghost over to the door silently and wait for the words I want to use to come.

Dying would be hard – but dying for her? Saving her like she's saved me repeatedly? That would be easy.

"Does Katniss know about this?"

"Not a word," Haymitch breathes.

"Then I want to keep it that way," I demand. "She doesn't know anything, okay?"

He nods. "Of course," his eyes look glassy, and I'm not sure what from. "So you'll do it?"

I nod. "I'll do it."

**Please review? Please? :-)**


	8. Chapter 8

**SURPRISE!**

**Early update! I got cranking on this last night since I figured the Interviews would take me a while to write.**

**This is where the plot begins to take off – a lot of the twists in the story come into begin here. The Gamemakers play a cruel joke on the tributes for the scored training session.**

**Enjoy!**

Tonight's the night.

Tonight's the night where I set Haymitch's plan into action. I realize that this is only going to work if completely amaze them. Last night, after we returned from an intense day of giggling and flirting for the cameras, I'd tossed and turned trying to find sleep, but found instead many stressful hours awake. When Katniss crept into my room to wake me up this morning, I heard her sigh.

"_What is it?" I ask._

_She reaches out a steady hand to trace the circles under my eyes._

"_You didn't sleep."_

_I shake my head._

"_Is it the training session that's got you worried? Because if it is – seriously, Peeta, you have _nothing_ to worry about. You have more talent than anyone here."_

_She's smiles at me, trying to reassure me that everything will be okay._

If only you knew, Katniss. If only you knew –

"_Thank you," I breath, relaxing into the pillow away from her. Her touch suddenly causing a guilty burn on my cheek – I tried to slide away subtly, but Katniss misses nothing. She narrows her eyes at me, analyzing, but she doesn't say the words I expect._

"_For what?"_

"_For being you. You're comforting me, even though you shouldn't have to," and suddenly I feel defensive. She shouldn't be comforting me. I should be comforting her..."I can take care of myself."_

_Pain flashes across her face in a blink, and I see her inching away from me. "Everyone needs someone, Peeta. Everyone needs to be comforted at one time or another."_

"_Not me," I argue. "I don't want your _pity_." It comes out harsher than I intended, and I can see it hurt her._

_She freezes for a second, lips in a firm line like she's holding back words that she desperately wants to say. But she doesn't._

_She walks away from me._

And now she won't look at me.

We're eating dinner now, and as if her silence wasn't cutting enough, the fact that she chooses to sit Haymitch in between us hurts more.

Maybe this was good, though. Haymitch did say that I didn't _have _to find her after I ditched the Careers. Maybe if she was mad at me, it'd be easier to stay away. But looking at her dejected face from across the table, I wasn't sure how that was _easier._

Why did I have to love her?

Seriously.

You know how much easier this would be if I didn't? But considering I couldn't remember a time I hadn't been infatuated with Katniss, it's hard to imagine it.

"Are you two excited for tonight?" Effie chirps, breaking the mutual silence that had settled over dinner.

The three of us gaze at her. I'm not sure what faces they're making, but mine is pretty dirty.

"Guess...not."

That was about it conversation wise for the evening. Katniss refused to look at me. Haymitch drank. And Effie squirmed in her chair, unable to cope with the lack of conversation.

The tributes make their way in and out of the Gamemaker's slowly, each and every one gritting their teeth.

Katniss' leg begins its nervous jitter again, but this time I don't stop it. I don't feel as though I'm allowed to touch her.

"What are you showing them?" I murmur lowly. I'm not sure why I'm being quiet considering we are the only ones left, awaiting judgment.

Her eyes flicker towards me. "Painting," she says certainly. "You're shooting, I suppose?"

"Knives," I correct. "They've seen me shoot a little already. And I think I like knives better anyway."

She nods.

"_Peeta Mellark District 12."_

That's my cue.

As I stand I notice that I suddenly feel heavier. That's a good start, right? I slowly trudge toward the doors before Katniss stops me with her voice.

"Good luck," she calls out quietly.

I turn around and see her look at me head on for the first time since this morning, her eyes sparkling with so many emotions I get lost for a minute trying to sort them out.

"You too," I stammer. "Paint...well."

She smiles. My chest tightens. "Hit targets."

Can do, Katniss.

When I enter, my gaze is drawn towards the Gamemakers' tables where they are eating and drinking to their heart's content. The smell of wine hits my nose and makes my stomach churn.

They are _very _drunk.

There had to be at least seven empty bottles scattered along the end of the table. They're all laughing and chuckling at something one of them said, ignoring me completely. Fine. So be it. I head over towards the knives, scanning for my favorite short and sturdy one. There is a line of really long ones, but not the one I'm looking for. I look over it again, but that's it.

They don't have my knife.

_What?_

I flip around like a lunatic in circles, searching for my knife. My gaze is drawn towards the weight center, and I notice that the light weights, too, are missing.

And then I notice something that makes my heart stop all together.

The paint station is supposed to be where the Gamemakers' watch box is now...

My head starts flailing around crazily, looking for the missing station.

And that's when I realize that it no longer exists.

_What the hell?!_

The paint station is gone.

What is Katniss supposed to do?

I immediately go into panic mode. I barely recognize my voice when I introduce myself to the Gamermakers. But they don't care, they're too drunk.

I grab one of the three knives they have left, one which is much longer and heavier than any of the ones I've practiced with.

I chuck it at the dummy – it sticks in the shin. Not great, but hey, if it'd been a real person I would win the fight.

The Gamemakers aren't as impressed.

I get slightly better with the next three knives, sticking one in the neck, and one dead in the heart. I see a few of them nod their heads in approval and I think that's as good as it's going to get. I dismiss myself – walking out the exit door. I can't reach Katniss. I can't warn her that they took away her only skill.

What am I supposed to do?

I'm practically gnawing my hand down to the bone the entire night waiting for Katniss to return. Did she at least try to shoot an arrow, perhaps? She might have been able to hit a target. We hadn't done much with it during training, but maybe she learned something from me that first day. She is smart, you know.

_I bet she asked for the paint station. They probably brought it back out._

Okay.

I relax slightly at the thought. I'm sure she's okay. She'll be –

"Katniss?" Haymitch's worried voice calls through the apartment. The sound of the front door slamming causes me to shoot straight up from my spot on the couch. I see Katniss dash down the hallway, on her way to her room. Her figure is tense and shaking. I reach out a hand to her from where I stand –

And then she looks at me.

Tears.

She's crying.

"Katniss," I croak, but she takes a sharp turn into her room, flying away from the crowd of worried friends surrounding her. I knock on her door repeatedly and I call her name and I beg, but the only reply I get are her soft, stifled sobs.

After a good twenty minutes of trying, I slump over to the couch, waiting for the scores to come on. Haymitch parks down next to me, running his hands over his face and sighs exhaustedly.

"Do you possibly know what happened?" he asks, breaking the silence.

I shrug, "I _think_. Katniss had said she was planning on painting herself in camouflage for the judges, but from what I saw, they had removed it along with a lot of other weapons. I have no idea what she did instead..."

Haymitch sighs again, leaning back into the cushions, matching my posture. "How'd you do?"

"Okay," I say. "They took away a lot of the knives I was familiar with, so I had to make use of the long ones they gave me. I did alright. I doubt I made an impression though."

Haymitch gives a small nod – and that's the only response I get. That worries me.

"Katniss?" Effie knocks on her door again, her voice soft and tender like a mother's. Her door creaks open slightly. Katniss wanders out, her face completely drained pale and eyes red rimmed and puffy.

None of us make a move to ask her how it went. The look on her face fills in the story.

She failed.

The TV clicks on then and a very blue Caesar Flickerman appears, beaming for all of Panem. He talks a little bit more about the upcoming Games how _excited _he is before he gets to scores. Most of the scores are low – 3s and 4s. The Careers, of course, score mostly eight through tens – Cato the highest of them. My heart pounds loudly in my ears awaiting 12. Rue and Thresh do pretty well, too. Rue scores a seven, and I wonder what she must have done to amaze them for being so tiny.

And then my picture comes up.

And beside it is the number 10.

Wow.

Haymitch's hand slapping me on my back brings me out of my dazed phase. His smile is the widest I've seen it.

"Good job, Peeta."

The exchange makes me think of my father briefly, but the painful stab in my chest makes me recoil. I try to give him my best smile back, but it feels fake.

Katniss is smiling at me, though very little. I can see it in her eyes. While she is proud of me, she is also carrying a large burden on her shoulders – one that pains her.

"And last, but certainly not least, the beautiful Katniss Everdeen – District 12," Caesar Flickerman announces gleefully before looking at his paper in hand. His blue eyebrow furrow as he stares in what appears to be confusion, his jaw going slightly slack.

"Eleven."

The room is completely silent besides the soft gasp from Effie. I can't seem to tear away my gaze from the dancing, sparkling eleven on the screen.

Eleven.

Katniss scored an eleven.

_How?_

I turn to look at her, silently asking her to tell me what happened.

Her eyes are not meeting mine, but instead are wide and drawn to the screen, too. She looks just as stunned as everyone else.

"Katniss," I begin, trying to find my voice. "What did you _do_?"

Her head flips towards me, eyes filled with another wave of tears, but looking more relieved than I'd ever seen anyone in my life.

The small smile previously set on her face is now large and genuine.

She huffs out a gust of air, before heading straight towards her room.

Not even saying a word.

**Ooooh...What happened to Katniss? Did they give her back her paints? Maybe...just maybe...she dirty negotiated with the Gamemakers like she did poor ol' papa Haymitch?**

**We'll see ;) I don't want to give away spoilers.**

**If you do have any ideas as to what happened, I will...GIVE YOU A COOKIE :-)**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated...just saying**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey...**

**It's time for the Interviews.**

**I hope you're ready! :D I'm excited for you to read it! It's my longest chapter so far. **

**I would also like to give a special shout out to LiveLaughLoveKataang for being there reading since the beginning! Your support means a lot to me!**

**Here it is!**

**Enjoy! It was a joy to write!**

"Stop slouching," Effie scolds, slapping me softly on the shoulder. "And what is with your hair? Did you have another early morning pounce with your play mate?"

I could really use a good scream right now. Effie and I have been going at this for hours. Previously, we'd been working on presentation and posture in the pent house, but now, we're down behind the stage working on how I'm going to woo the crowd. I want to slap her back and tell her I already have a damn strategy and to leave me alone, but she doesn't know this. Haymitch and I have kept our plan low key considering Effie isn't much of a secret keeper.

So, I sit up straight and run my fingers through my hair trying to comb out the tangles I hadn't bothered to brush out.

"_No_, we didn't," I snap, frustrated. We haven't talked since – well, since before I walked into that training arena. Whenever I brush past her in the hall, there's a tension in the air that I can almost reach out and touch. The air around her is typically warm and electrified, but anymore, it's cold. And if that isn't enough, she recoils if our skin comes in the slightest contact. We've both been walking on egg shells, trying to be careful of not setting the other off. No matter what has occurred in the past twenty-four hours, there is still a part of me that longs to know what happened, even though I have a feeling I never will. After she fled from the room, beaming and ready to cry _happy _tears this time, she never resurfaced.

Haymitch stared after her for the longest time, frowning at something that must have been running through his head.

"_What?" I asked hoarsely._

_It was a while before I got an answer, long enough that I'd already changed into sweats for bed._

"_I don't feel good about this, Peeta," he said lowly, careful to avert his words away from the nearby Effie._

"_I thought getting high scores was a good thing."_

"_Not for her," he murmured. "The Careers will be keeping close tabs on her now – while they will try to collect you, they will try to get Katniss on their side as well. You can't let that happen. The boy from 2 – he's bad news. Make sure he never comes in contact with her. She won't last."_

_A shudder runs through me as the image of Cato wrestling Katniss to the ground in a matter of seconds flies through my mind._

She wouldn't last.

"_I won't let him touch her," I vowed. "But I don't think I'll need to worry about her. It's most likely she can paint herself into the scenery. She can hide it out."_

_He nods, but not in agreement – just acknowledgment that he heard me._

"_But what about you?" he asks intensely. "Can you hide?"_

_I pause, remembering the small lesson Katniss gave me on camouflage. _

"Textures are key. And don't forget to add sunshine!"

"_If it's necessary, yes."_

_Haymitch grins sarcastically before saying what I already know to be true._

"_Looks like your job just got a little hard, Princess."_

"Well, you look dreadful," Effie frets. "Guess that's what Portia's for isn't it?"

"Hey now, be nice," Haymitch interrupts from the couch across from me where Caesar will be placed tonight. "He's had a rough couple days, lighten up. He knows what to do." I smile in thanks at him. But if I'm honest, I don't know what to do. How does one make a very public declaration of love in the face of death?

Hell if I know.

"And if you need _help_," he says pointedly. "Caesar is quite talkative."

Effie sighs. "I really hope you know what you're doing, Haymtich."

"Oh, I do. I do."

She spins on her heal, obviously peeved that no one is bothering to share my strategy with her. But she'll know soon enough.

"How you feeling?" Haymitch asks me.

I shrug, unaware of the answer myself.

"Caesar knows what to ask," he assures me. "All you have to do be honest with the people."

I grit my teeth. "You make it sound easy."

"Isn't it?" he questions. "Say what you've been saying with your face the past week."

"I'm not good with words."

He sighs and runs his hands over his face. "Peeta," he breathes. "When you look at that piranha of a girl you love, what kind of things come to mind? What is she to you?"

I swallow the lump that's suddenly in my throat. "I'd do anything for her–," I hesitate before saying. "She's my guardian angel."

"That's good," Haymitch encourages. I sink into the couch once again, unconcerned for my _posture_. "See, Peeta. You can do this. It's obvious you adore her. Just let _them _know that."

I can do that.

I _will_ do that.

"Strip for me," Portia barks as soon as I walk into the Remake Center.

"Couldn't I at least take you out to dinner first?" I joke, throwing her a wink. She sends me a glare that could kill baby bunnies. I hold my hands up, defensively, apologizing. She does her work quickly, scrubbing me down, powdering me down with some frilly crap that makes me sparkle bronze. For the first time, I look healthy without needing the help of flames.

She places me in a black suit with red trim, which I assume is a play-off of my previous costume. I can't deny that I look grown up now. I look like a soon-to-be victor instead of a sick boy from the Seam. It gives me hope.

"You look pretty damn good, don't you?" she asks confidently. She stands behind me, hands on both of my shoulders as I stare into the mirror.

I chuckle. "Don't be so smug. You did a..._nice _job."

Portia rolls her eyes and giggles. "Whatever, Peeta. If you think _I _did a nice job, just wait till you see your little _friend_."

I want to tell her how Katniss probably doesn't want to see me, but I keep my mouth shut. She scurries me along to me where Effie and Haymitch wait outside my room. Effie squeals and I make a reluctant, tiny spin for her.

"Look at you!" she gushes. "You look like a _victor_! Doesn't he, Haymitch?"

Haymitch shakes his head, "He looks like a hero."

We walk together towards Katniss' remake room and wait for her to come out. Effie gabs on and on about how amazing she heard Katniss' gown was going to be. From what little I could make out of her high-speed chattering, there's going to be flames.

"How much does this thing weigh?" I hear an incredulous voice giggle through the door.

"Forty pounds, give or take."

"I feel fat."

"You look stunning."

The door flies open and it's almost like the entire hall has been enveloped in a ball of sun. The dress – that fire red dress – it easily lives up to all the hype, hugging every curve of her just right, sparkling and casting glowing patterns on all of our faces. Her usually braided hair is piled on top of her head, wound with gold and red fibers. And her skin glows, just like the rest of her.

But the thing that gets me the most is simply her face.

Her lips painted a dramatic red, eyes twinkling, cheeks flushed naturally pink – looking as radiant as the sun.

For a second, I'm worried that I'm going to vomit out my heart. The harsh beating in my chest feels like it's forcing its way into my throat and I can't talk. I want to fall to my knees and beg forgiveness – say how sorry I am for being the way I am – wanting to make it up to her – wanting to change for her.

_I'd do anything for you_.

I feel Katniss' hand come up to stroke my chin and then push up gently, closing my dropped jaw. My skin feels hot with want and embarrassment when her hand lingers on my cheek.

"Your face...is _smooth_."

I chuckle, grabbing the hand on my face and capturing it in both of mine.

"They shaved it right when we got here. I'm surprised you haven't noticed."

She shrugs, "I always get distracted by your eyes."

And with that simple confession, I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it delicately.

_I adore you_.

Haymitch coughs awkwardly at the exchange, breaking the moment.

"You do looks lovely, Katniss," he compliments gruffly. "But we do need to go."

So with that, I take Katniss' hand and follow Haymitch to where the rest of the tributes have lined up. They all look nice – some a little over the top and might I say, promiscuous – especially the girl from District 1. I believe her name is Glimmer or something ridiculous like that. But it's clear that Katniss out shines them all, figuratively and literally, and I could say that from a non-biased point of view.

Effie wishes us both good luck, eyeing me cautiously – like she's sure I'm going to make a fool of myself.

But Haymitch grasps my shoulder and looks me dead in the eye.

"Honesty."

I nod.

He doesn't say anything else. He simply bows his head at Katniss and walks off.

The lights on stage flicker, signaling for us to sit. And it's at that moment my stomach lurches with sudden realization.

_This is it._

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight, I would like you introduce you to the twenty-four faces of the 74th annual Hunger Games!" Caesar cheers. First is District 1, of course. All I can say about that pair is this:

Marvel is a potential threat

I saw way more of Glimmer than I needed to

District 2 also has mostly the same effect on me. Cato worries me, and Clove makes my skin crawl – she may be tiny, but she's got a sick look in her eyes like something isn't right in her mind. And the Districts keep rolling, very few sticking in my mind. They are all playing some sort of angle. While Glimmer was supposed to be a seductress, the Fox-faced girl from 5 is enigmatic and sly, but worst – she's _clever_. Before I know it, it is Rue and Thresh I see up there. Rue looks adorable in a gossamer gown with wings, like a dark fairy, and when Caesar asks about her 7, she replies simply, "I may be small, but I'm good at hiding. So don't count me out!"

Thresh is terrifying to say the least. He gives curt, one-worded answers and I can tell it makes Caesar uncomfortable, but the thing that unnerves me the most is the way he looks at Katniss. Eyes bright, mouth twitched up in the faint trace of smile, his face hopeful -

Completely mesmerized. Or as Prim would have put it – unfathomable longing.

And Caesar notices and even tries to get an answer out of him.

"Do you like _fire_, Thresh?"

And when he answers he stares at Katniss, but she looks down, blushing.

"Yes."

That's the best answer he got all night.

_You are mine._

And then it's Katniss I see gliding up to that stage, a trail of fire behind her. The crowd goes insane at the sight of her. Someone even throws a rose at her, and she catches it dutifully and sniffs it, tucking it in the sash around her waist.

"So, Miss _Everdeen_," Caesar says playfully, patting her hand. "You have been simply on _fire_ since your arrival – well, actually since the Reaping. What has been your favorite part of the city so far?"

Katniss doesn't even hesitate when she dead pans, "The lamb stew."

Caesar chuckles along with the audience, "Ah! The one with the dried plumbs? That's my favorite as well!" He stands and shows the audience his profile. "Doesn't show does it?"

I smile at their happy exchanges. Some of the banter is about the fancy showers and the flames costume, light-hearted exchanges – until the one targeting her..._admirers._

"Katniss," he whispers. She leans in comically, ready to listen. "I heard through the grape vine that you have a couple _suitors_? Maybe you could give me the scoop?"

She shrugs. "I'm a _very_ desired woman, Caesar. You'll _have _to be more specific." She says it so blatantly sarcastic that everyone roars with laughter – mostly at how true it is, and how she doesn't see that.

"Well, I was actually thinking about that young man, Peeta, that came here with you!"

"Oh yeah!" she chides like she almost forgot. "He's _okay_." She shoots me a wink, accompanied by a blown kiss and make sure the cameras get a load of my bashful smile.

_You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen._

Caesar goes into deeper discussion about me, and I wish at that moment that I could melt into my chair and disappear.

"So what would you say is Peeta's most redeeming quality?"

"His ass."

The audience goes completely nuts, shrieks of laughter so loud it's almost deafening. I know the cameras are trained on my face, and I try to block it out, but I can't help but let the blood rush to my cheeks.

Katniss giggles along with everyone else before collecting herself and sighing. "But really," she clears her throat and stares at the floor, twiddling her thumbs. "I couldn't pick just one. He's strong. He's been the caretaker of his family for as long as I've known him which is a while, Caesar," she blushes then, a beautiful sight that makes my heart go berserk. "And he just - ," she pauses, eyes scanning the ground for something that isn't there. "He makes me feel _alive_."

I hear all kinds of sighs erupt from the crowd.

Caesar smiles gently, "I knew there had to be something there. I mean, you did take his sister's place. That's nothing small."

Katniss shakes her head. "I did. I mean, I couldn't let her go – I couldn't let – I just," for the first time in my life I witness Katniss Everdeen stutter over her words.

Caesar waits. When she finally seems to find her voice again she stares him dead in the face, her twinkling eyes suddenly dark and cold. The entire auditorium has gone silent.

"You should _never _have to choose."

Caesar blinks confused. "Choose what?"

"Between you and your family. That should _never _have to be a choice," her voice growls in a low, dangerous purr. "Where is the line drawn, Caesar? Will they finally wake up one day and see how _wrong _this is? No. They don't care. They're blind. That day was the day I decided to draw the line." She leans in closer to him, so close, I'm sure they're sharing breathing space. "The Capitol will not _ruin_ another family."

The buzzer goes off.

That's it.

She just bad mouthed the Capitol during The Interviews. The place where _everyone _can see and hear her. You _never _want to shoot down the Capitol – especially in public.

Katniss Everdeen, you just made my job a whole lot harder.

"Last but certainly not least, Peeta Mellark – District 12!"

Show time.

My legs carry me again, since my mind seems to have gone blank.

I'm shaking hands with Caesar. I sit in my chair. I see his blue lips move, but nothing comes out. How funny...

"Peeta?"

What? "Huh?"

The audience chuckles lightly.

"I said, 'what is the most different thing you've seen while in the Capitol so far?"

"Everyone's...a color," I say, even though I know that doesn't make sense. More chuckles.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You're blue," I say pointing at his face. "She's green. He's gold. She's _pink_," I point over at Effie who rolls her eyes, but not in agitation. "It's like I'm inside a rainbow."

The audience cackles, nodding in agreement towards one another.

"Hmm," Caesar ponders. "I never thought of it that way before."

"I'm quite insightful guy, Caesar," I tease, shooting a wink towards the crowd. The women squeal and pounce each other trying to catch. I snort a little.

"I think I might be, too." He nods over to the smiling Katniss. "Tell me, am I correct when I say you two have a history?"

I feel my cheeks burn a little, "I guess you could say that."

"Oh?" he asks, intrigued. "Do tell."

_I'd do anything for you._

I swallow the lump in my throat. "She saved my life."

A soft gasp is passed around by the spectators. I guess they weren't expecting that.

"How so?"

"My father died when I was very young," I start. "We were okay at first. We managed, but when I was twelve, I couldn't – I – it was a really bad winter." Pictures of that day flash in front of my eyes. I remember how grey that day had been. The clouds had blocked out the sun, and it had begun to rain –

"My family was starving. I had even resorted to digging through trash bins for food," I should be embarrassed when I say that bit, but I don't. Suddenly, I remember how cold it was, and I remember the sinking feeling in my empty stomach when I looked into lonely, silver bottoms of the cans.

"And I crawled under one of the trees by the bakery, set on withering away, but she saw me."

An eleven year old Katniss flashes through my mind, cheeks stained with tears, nose pink – blackened bread in her arms, a welt on her cheek.

"She had burned two loaves of bread on purpose, even taken punishment, just so she could give them to me. She'd snatched a cookie, too. For Prim."

She stands over me, extending her arms with the loaves stretched towards me. The smell of yeast and hope.

"And I ran home without thanking her because I couldn't seem to form a sentence in front of her – and I still can't sometimes."

The warm touch of her tiny rain soaked hand on my cold one, telling me to be careful.

"It gave me hope – that I could do this. I _could _survive. I wouldn't be here today without her."

_Always protecting me._

"And then she had to go and do something crazy like volunteer in my sister's place. I mean, I still haven't repaid her for the bread and now _this_. It would be so much easier if she hadn't tossed me that bread. So much easier if I wasn't –,"

The entire audience is hanging on my every word. It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"Wasn't what, Peeta?"

I turn out to look at her, her eyes wide and filled with tears as she remembers that day with me. She must remember. She _must_.

My heart thuds once solidly, coaxing me to go on.

_My angel._

"If I wasn't in love with her."

**Took you long enough, Peeta! Well, there you have it! Step one of the KPP (Katniss Protection Plan) is complete! **

**Next chapter will be mushy :-) Roof top? I think so.**

**Reviews please! :-)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey.**

**So, this is like...dramatic. A lot.**

**I wouldn't tell you to go get a tissue box or anything, but I know while I was writing this, it exhausted me.**

**Emotions are hard. :P Especially when you aren't the one actually feeling them.**

**But here's the roof top – Enjoy! Thank you for all the Reviews/Favorite/Follows.**

**I love you so much I could just stalk you...**

**...**

I remember one time long ago, when I was fourteen years old – I was chased by a bear. I really wanted the hive of honey that dangled over my head, but then again, so did the grizzly that stood on the other side of the wide oak. The climbing match, and then the race back to the fence, not only were physically exhausting, but the rush of adrenaline didn't seize even when I reached town.

Let's say my heart had never pounded that fast in all my life.

Until now.

Not once do I break eye contact with Katniss. Her eyes are so close to spilling tears, I can see her jaw clenching though, holding them back. The infamous crease between her eyebrows make a reappearance. She isn't angry – no.

But she's upset – and if my Katniss-reading abilities are proving themselves tonight, I recognize the look in her eyes.

It's the look I get from the teachers when I fail a test – my wrestling coach when I let a weaker man purposefully pin me – Madge when I lose focus and miss the 10 point buck –

It's disappointment.

"Well," Caesar breaks in. "That really is bad luck."

"Yeah," I murmur, glaring at my shoes. I can't take that look from Katniss – I could handle the shame in my teachers eyes and even Madge – but hot Katniss. Not the person who means more to me than she'll even know. I can still feel her gaze on my face, and that isn't helping.

"You're a brilliant man, Peeta Mellark," Caesar says genuinely, clutching my hand in his and shaking it firmly. "You'll rise to the occasion."

I muster up a smile, "Thank you."

"But if it's any consolation, I think that perhaps Miss Everdeen returns those feelings?"

The crowd hoops and hollers – screaming all kind of gibberish that I can't begin to make out. The cameras are focused on both of us, and I don't know what to do or say. Should I go out to her? Say I'm sorry for being a moron? But it's for her own good –

"Maybe they'd like to discuss this now?" Caesar winks at me and I immediately panic. _No, please. _But I don't have to because the buzzer goes off. The audience groans in protest. "Or maybe later..."

Caesar addresses goodnight to Panem, all the while, I find myself inching closer and closer on the edge of my chair towards the stage stairs. I can't let her leave – I have to apologize. Katniss looks down at her hands in her lap, and it's then that I see a single tear fall onto the fabric of her dress.

"Caesar Flickerman live from the Capitol saying Goodnight and Happy Hunger Games!" The lights shut off, leaving the audience in low light. I drop into a dead sprint towards the stairs screaming for Katniss as a wave of pesky spectators make way towards the exit. I can see the top of her head, even for as short as she is, weaving in and out of the crowd, trying to get away from me, I assume. Capitols citizens pat me on the shoulder, wishing me luck, some even wiping leftover tears from their cheeks. I try to be courteous, but they're in my flipping way. I think one huffs negatively at me when I shove a couple to the side to get through.

When I finally get out to the hallway though, she's gone, not a flicker of fire to be seen.

_I lost her_.

In more ways than one.

* * *

"Katniss?" I knock frantically on her door.

"She's not in there," Haymitch says from the end of the hall, glass of brandy in hand. "She's on the roof and pretty upset, too."

I cringe. How bad would it be? When I got to the roof would she scream at me? Try to shove me off?

I storm past Haymitch to the stairs. "If you happen to hear screaming," I say, turning to him. "Come make sure no ones dead."

He gives me a sad smile before nodding and waltzing off to his room.

When the cold air hits my face, I immediately know that it is _way _too cold tonight for Katniss to be up here. She could get sick.

I look over and spot her a few feet away, standing at the railing looking over the sparkling Capitol. She's still in her dress, but the glow is gone, and now she just looks like the life has been sucked out of her.

"Why are you here, Peeta?" she asks, not glancing back once.

"You know why," I say coming up behind her. I take my jacket off and place around her shivering frame. She looks at me ready to protest. "It's cold."

She slips her arms through the sleeves which are way too long on her, looking quite adorable. "Thank you."

She's being overly formal and it bugs me. Be normal Katniss, _please_.

"_Why_ are you doing this, Peeta?"

Do you even have to ask?

"You know that answer, too."

She spins around, eyes crazed – angry. Her lips are set in a firm line. "Do I? Because I didn't realize things ran that deep for you until tonight. So much for _honesty_."

"Well you know you haven't been exactly truthful with me either!" I snap back.

"When _haven't _I been honest?"

"Um, did you forget the training scores?"

She freezes, chewing through her words, and looking more hurt than I've seen her. "I can't – I can't – I," she shakes her head and stares at the ground. "That's different."

My voice is rising to dangerous hurtful levels. "How is that different, Katniss? Why? Because I love you?"

"Do _not _say that," she barks, jabbing a finger at me. "If you value my sanity, do not tell me you _love _me."

I clutch the hand that's been pointing accusingly at me in both of mine and bring it to my chest over my heart. I pray that she can feel how frantically it's beating for her – maybe she'd understand.

"Do you feel that?" I ask. My voice trembles, but I can't stop it. Not now. "It's beating because of you – because you saved me," I stammer. "And I don't care if you don't want it, but this," I flatten her palm on my chest peck and close the remaining space between us. "This is _yours_, and it will be until it stops beating."

I look down at her, and I can see more tears roll down her cheeks. Her flutter shut and she rests her forehead on my shoulder, leaning into me.

"Damn it, Peeta," she whispers, and I can feel her lips moving against my shirt and the tears soaking through the fabric. "We can't both win. What if I die? What happens to your heart then?"

Well that isn't going to happen, Katniss.

"It breaks."

She swallows loudly. "What if _you_ die? What am I supposed to do? What do I - ," a sob cuts her off and she throws her arms around me, pressing her tear soaked face into my neck. "You can't tell me that. Not now – maybe in a different life we could have been something. But this isn't it. There isn't time. Not now."

I bite the inside of my cheek really hard, because up until now, crying was the last thing on my mind, but now it's on the brink of spilling over. "I'm sorry," I whisper because I fear my voice will crack under the emotion stuck in my throat. "I'm so sorry."

We stand like this for a while, she letting me hold her. Even though the lights may be bright from the city, it doesn't cut out the stars. And they dance.

"We have a little time _now_," I say softly into her hair. It still holds the faint scent of frosting and warm bread and I bask in it. "What do you want to do?"

She wraps her arms tighter around me. "I want you to hold me."

So I do.

* * *

We do have to head back inside eventually. Tomorrow is the Games, and we both need sleep.

I walk her to her room, her hand in mine. She's almost dead on her feet – it's been a big day, and tomorrow an even bigger one. She refuses to let go of my hand, and when I say goodnight and turn to leave she holds it even tighter in hers.

"I want you to stay with me."

I nod, "Always."

She lures me into her room, which is almost an exact copy of mine and kicks her shoes off. They land somewhere towards the bathroom.

She looks at me, eyelids low with sleep and shrugs off my jacket, dropping it on the floor. Her hands fly up to the buttons on my shirt and undo them skillfully slow. I try to remind myself we are _just _sleeping, but my lusty teenaged brain can't help but fantasize about a different ending. My shoes and pants follow hastily, leaving me in nothing but an under shirt and boxers.

I help her undress, too, pulling pins out of her hair and being totally mesmerized at the flowing, chocolate tendrils that begin to spill around her shoulders. And I help her with the dress as well, and when she asks me to unzip her; I do it professionally and maturely. I'm relieved, yet slightly disappointed when I find she's wearing a slip underneath.

Then she walks away from my hands and pulls back the covers, set on sleeping in _this_, I guess. I crawl under them with her, our limbs tangle and my arms come around her. The only thing my exhausted brain can process is how soft and warm everything is around me.

_Cherish it, Mellark_, I tell myself. _This is your last chance_.

As tired as she is, she still responds with soft sighs when I press gentle kisses to her forehead, cheeks, and nose. And when I pull back, she's smiling, though small. Her head comes to rest on my chest and we lay there quietly for a while, but not sleeping yet.

Or maybe I do – I'm not sure because I think I'm dreaming. A picture of two children, a girl and boy with a mix of our faces run through the meadow back home. They're giggling, safe from Games.

The chubby, well-fed toddler romps over to a smiling Katniss who picks him up and kisses his rosy cheeks.

And Katniss looks at the little girl who is running towards me, bow and arrow in hand, giggling. The sun is setting and the sky is just beginning to turn that one shade orange that made me always think of hope –

"I can hear your heart," Katniss murmurs, breaking me from the dream. She pauses and looks up at me. "Is it really mine?"

I nod. "Forever."

And my heart stops when she says the next words, even though I can tell she's fighting to get them out.

"You can have mine forever, too, if you'd like."

**Ah-hem. I have a long author's note...**

**Tthe idea of Katniss and Peeta sleeping in the same bed came from _Someone to Watch Over Me _by AuthorsCamelot. It's one of the best HG fanfics I've ever read. You should check it out!**

**I've had several people ask me for Katniss or Haymitch POVs, and I apologize, but I can't do a Katniss POV because it would cause spoilers for future chapters :P Sorry. But I would be happy to do a Haymitch POV for next chapter, perhaps? **

**Review and let me know if that would be something you'd be interested in reading! I love writing for Haymitch!**

**ALSO, I've been working on chapters that don't happen until MUCH later in the story since I've been so excited about getting there – but here's an excerpt! And if people like the ideas of future excerpts, I may continue to give one or two sentence blubs...? Let me know!**

**This chapter in my Word Doc is titled "Truths."**

"_Do you know how Gale died, Peeta?"_

"_Illness," I say hesitantly. I don't quite know the full extent of what happened – but I know it wasn't curable. _

_She stares at me quietly, eyes still blank, yet taking on that violent edge deep in their grey pools. It was the face she made at Caesar when he asked her why she volunteered._

You should never have to choose.

**Thanks!**

**-Katie**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you for the Review, Follows, Favorites, guys! Really! My love you all of you!**

**And a special shout out to Peenis0314 for all the reviews! I really love reading yours because they really help me in my writing and motivation. So thanks!**

**I hope you enjoy! This chapter is _very_ different from the books for two scenes in particular...heehee**

**Now, let the Games begin -**

I'm awake.

I don't want to be, but I am. My body seems to realize what day it is because my heart immediately goes into double time – and not because of what is sleeping on top of me. I look down at my chest and find a snoring Katniss curled into a ball in my arms. I can't stop myself from reaching out and brushing a few strands of hair out of her face.

Her eyes flutter open, then, and I'm startled by how intense they are.

You know what day it is, too.

"Hi," I murmur and give her a smile.

She doesn't smile back, but trails her hand from between our bodies up to my face, tracing the circles under my eyes.

"How did you sleep?" she asks, concerned.

"Better than I have in a while."

The crease between her eyebrows appears, maybe doubting my words, but she doesn't verbalize it. She simply curls tighter against me and buries her face in my neck, goose bumps rising on my skin in response.

I draw lazy patterns on her back as she continues to huddle into me. She's scared – I can tell by her tense breathing. She's holding back emotions.

"You'll be okay," I whisper sincerely.

_If you never believe another word I say – believe that._

I feel her lips trail a string of kisses up my neck to my ear and I start to panic. It's too nice – I get lost in the feeling. I should be stopping it, but I don't because I'm selfish.

"Peeta," she breathes in my ear.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me something happy."

"Like what?"

"Like what would have happened to us if we hadn't been reaped?"

Hadn't been reaped?

"I would have asked you that afternoon. When we went back to get Prim's cake, I would have asked you out on a date."

I feel her lips curl into a smile against my skin, "What if I'd said no?"

"I'd have crawled, begged – Prim would probably have had to drag me home, sobbing."

She nuzzles my ear. "I wouldn't have said no."

Right now, I hate the Hunger Games more than I ever have.

"Where would you have taken me?"

"Huh?"

She chuckles. "Where would you have taken me out on our date?"

"Oh," I mutter. "I would have taken you to the lake in the woods – where my father and I used to go to fish. It's illegal, but it's peaceful there. You almost forget you're in 12."

She hums in appreciation. "That sounds nice. What would we do there?"

"I'd probably have packed a picnic – something cheesy like that. Do you know how to swim?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"I would have taught you to swim, too."

I feel her fingers play with the hairs on the back of my neck as she litters slow, soft, kisses on my cheek bones and jaw.

"What else?"

My thoughts become severely clouded with lust at that point, I barely recognize my voice. "I'd have set out our clothes in the sun to dry. I'd talk to you about every little thing that came to mind. I wouldn't hide anything from you."

She brushes her lips back and forth over my chin and her hands are freely tugging and combing through my hair. I have to close my eyes to keep composure. Who knew something so simple could feel this good?

"What about after?"

"I'd walk you home."

She positions herself so that she hovers over me. Her arms on either side of my head, and her face so close our noses brush.

"Would you have kissed me?" Her eyes dart from my eyes to my mouth before her tongue reaches out to wet her lips. I'm not even sure she was _trying _to be seductive. But if I knew one thing about kissing a girl, which I have no experience in, it was that this was the green light.

"I would have tried – but only if you wanted me to."

"I want you to." And suddenly, we aren't talking about "what-ifs" anymore.

She leans down, trying to close the remaining space between us. Our lips haven't even touched when we hear Effie scream.

"Oh my God!" She shrieks. "Seriously, you two?" She covers her eyes. "I'm sick of this! Put your clothes back on before I strangle you with them!"

Last time, Katniss and I had shared a laugh, but now, we're both furious.

Thanks, Effie.

She storms out and Katniss leans down next to the bed to pick up my shirt. She hands it to me, eyes sad, yet dark with desire.

"That would have been nice."

If she's referring to the what-if date or the almost kiss, I'll never know.

* * *

"Water."

I look up from my bowl. "What about it?"

"Find it," Haymitch snaps. "Don't go to the Cornucopia – it's just a blood bath. You want to distance yourself from the others."

Haymitch kind of broke this morning. He's so sober it's frightening – constantly angry. He's been drifting in and out of the on-going conversations between Effie, Katniss, and I – and I can tell he's panicking on the inside. Every few minutes he'll have an outburst and snip some survival tip at us, worried that he's forgot something. I'm almost too terrified to eat my cereal in fear of upsetting him. Katniss, on the other hand, brushes him off. She sends an appreciative look at him, thanking him for everything.

"Other than that, you're on your own," he barks. "Just be smart and be safe."

Easier said than done, Haymitch.

After we clear our things from the table, Effie mentions lightly to Katniss that they need to leave to meet with Cinna and my heart drops to my feet.

This is it.

This is the last time I'm going to get to see her before the arena.

_There isn't time_.

And there never will be enough time. While time is just a concept, something non-physical that we merely measure with non-physical units, it still leaves. How can something that doesn't exist slip through my fingers so easily?

Katniss catches my gaze and reaches for my hand.

"Could we have a minute?" she asks Effie and Haymitch. They nod and leave the room, giving us some space and privacy.

Katniss stares at the floor for a minute before reaching into the pocket of her sweats and clutching something small in her hand. She looks back up at me, eyes glassy and containing a deep emotion that I'm confused by – Callousness? Determination? It's somewhere on that spectrum. She opens my palm in hers and presses something cold and metal into it. Uncovered, it's a gold pin – a Mockingjay. I'd seen one like it before, I think. I faintly remember Madge wearing something similar, but it was years ago and she traded the pin for a ring that she constantly wore around her neck. It suited her better – less flashy.

"Cinna got this approved for me to take into the arena – but I really want you to wear it," she breaths, voice steady even though her eyes betray her. "It was Gale's." That last bit is like a kick in the gut, leaving me breathless. She's giving me a memoir of her dead brother –

"I can't take this," I refuse, holding it out to her. "You keep it."

She shakes her head. She's already made up her mind. I grip it in my hand tightly, "Thank you."

She doesn't say anything else – she doesn't need to. But that look in her eyes flashes strongly – and now I'm certain it's determination.

And I don't have time to ask what she's thinking because she rises on her tiptoes and kisses me. A part of me should have been expecting it given the almost kiss this morning – but I'm still caught off guard. It's soft and warm and shy, but powerful enough to ignite a small burn in the pit of my stomach. It's nothing like what I daydreamed my first kiss with Katniss Everdeen – first kiss ever, actually – was going to be like. Not one that was a mere hour before the Hunger Games. That was never a part of it. But she tastes the way I imagine – sweet, kind of like cookies, and those long eyelashes that I drew so many times brushing my cheeks. It's pure bliss.

But I have no idea what I'm doing.

Katniss pulls away ever so slightly, whispering against my skin, "Breathe, Peeta," before pressing her lips to mine again. While her confidence may speak otherwise, I can tell from the way her hands tremble against my chest and how her lips move cautiously against mine that she's just as inexperienced as I. But nevertheless, it's still incredible.

The breathing is not as easy as I thought it would be. I have to pull away from her when I feel the room starts to spin, but I keep her close, cradled in my arms.

With the tingling of where her lips touched mine fresh on my skin, I silently tell her that I love her with all I am.

And I apologize for any trouble I may cause in the very near future.

* * *

Portia notices the pin right away.

"What's that?"

"Mockingjay," I say. "Katniss wanted me to have it."

She tugs on my arms, bringing me closer so that she can study it. "I like it."

I smirk, "I do, too."

She helps me dress. The actions seem slow and dodgy, like I'm watching a video through a fuzzy screen – or listening to a record that's skipping. She tosses clothes at me. The shirt is form fitting and the pants stretch comfortably when I bend. I shrug on a jacket that oddly doesn't make me warm in this tiny room.

"It keeps you warm when it's supposed to," she says, noticing my curiosity. The boots are comfortable too – I won't be having any trouble running. It's relieving. "You'll be fine, Peeta," she comments lowly, trying to comfort me. "You're an extraordinary man."

Man. Not boy.

"Haymitch wants to see you," she says shyly when I'm done repinning the Mockingjay onto myself. He comes in, face looking scrubbed clean like he'd been trying to wake himself up. He spots it and a small smile graces his pink face.

Neither of us make a move towards the other, unsure of what to say.

He speaks first, though. "I'm proud of you," his voice breaks. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

It is I, though, who embraces him. It doesn't feel awkward like I thought it would – it reminds me of my dad, and it's comforting. He pulls away to look at me and pats me on the shoulder. "I don't think I need to remind you of anything," he says certainly. "You're a brave soul, Peeta Mellark. I wish I was half the man you are."

"_Tributes at stand by."_

I can't find my voice, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Good luck."

Cinna gently prods me into the glass tube-like elevator that will take me up to the arena from the catacombs. I can hear clicking and grinding as the floor starts moving underneath me.

As I turn around catching the last glimpses I'll ever have of Haymitch and Portia – I see Haymitch press three fingers to his lips and hold them out to me.

Goodbye to you, too, Haymitch.

The light when I surface is blinding. The catacombs were far too dark, and it's disorienting. I look around, spotting twenty-two faces that won't make it home and it makes me sick to know that these people, good or not, will be dead within the next week. Katniss is several people over, looking confident and strong on her platform and as she connects gazes with me, she grins a little.

This is it.

The Cornucopia is massive – and exactly what it's named. It's a metal building filled with weapons and backpacks of food and water and supplies and – Haymitch said to stay away from it all. How could I? Look at it! If I could get my hands on it –

No. Do what Haymitch says.

But...bow...

There's a satchel with archery supplies tied together. It's like it's made for _me._

For all I know, it might have been – they might be targeting me. The Gamemakers want me to wrestle for it.

Well then they have quite a show in store.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Katniss shaking her head at me. I look at her and she gives me a severe look that's easy to read –

_Don't be stupid_.

Sorry, Katniss.

"Ladies and Gentlemen – Let the 74th Annual Hunger Games begin!"

**Ten.**

_Listen to Katniss. Don't do it._

**Nine.**

_But her life might depend on it_...

**Eight.**

_Just go for it – You can take them. Find the careers. Find water._

**Seven.**

_She's still shaking her head...maybe I shouldn't._

**Six.**

_No. It's for her own good._

**Five.**

_Wipe the sweat of your hands. Get a grip._

**Four.**

_I can feel my heart in my throat._

**Three.**

_Just be fast. Bow. Water. Careers._

**Two.**

_I love you, Katniss._

**One.**

Run.

**Peeta can be dumb, can't he? Oh, well, when you're a seventeen year old boy fueled by adrenaline and love you make dumb decisions.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Reviews are appreciated!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Oh my goodness. According to my gallery of Reviews – In a New Light is only three reviews away from 100 (that includes anonymous reviews as well) But...**

**HOLY COW! I was NOT expecting this response to my first story! Seriously, thank you SO MUCH, you guys! This is all you! :-) **

**And I want to apologize for the last chapter real quick – I realized this morning that my page breaks were missing and I panicked. I went back and changed it, but sorry for any confusion! I jumped around a lot there...heehee**

**Now – the Games have begun.**

**KPP has commenced. (Cue dramatic music)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Right now is the moment I truly realize what Madge was talking about.

The moment when the tributes fall into the arena and can no longer be considered anything but animals.

I run fast – but that doesn't mean I can't still feel the fangs of death snipping at my heels. The screaming of two boys – whose names and numbers I'm unaware of – collide and wrestle violently, punching and even biting until finally, the larger one caves and breaks the others neck.

The first kill.

I shake out the image as best as I can, but the picture of the unmoving boy is burned to the back of my eyelids. And in my dazed state, I stumble over something.

Or _someone_.

The girl from four actually _growls_. Her stance is one that speaks not only of defense – but protectiveness over the backpack at her feet. She claws at me, teeth barred and snarling. She's too small to be intimidating so I simply shoot her the most menacing look I can muster and she gets the point. I collect my weapons as fast as I can but fumble them in a mess of jitters. _Get a grip_. But I can't. My hands are so shaky and sweaty I have a hard time picking up all the arrows. I only drop them again when a thin pair of arms wraps tightly around me in an attempt of strangulation. But they're weak. I bend down at the waist and haul them over my shoulder, flopping them on the ground. It's the boy from five – he wants my bow.

_My bow_.

I tower over him, scowling. He curls into a small ball and flinches – waiting for me to make the kill.

"Run," I snarl. "Now!"

He blinks at me confused. I pull my fist back like I'm about to rip him a new one and he finally comes to. He scampers away empty handed, thankful enough that I spared his life. In hind sight, I probably shouldn't have and I will possibly regret that later, but for now, I've got bigger fish to fry. I hastily gather my weapons and head for the forest.

Shrieks and cries of pain follow me. I don't turn around though – scared I'll see something that I won't be able to forget. But something does catch my eye – a small brown haired girl running the complete opposite direction from me – Katniss. And she has a bright orange back pack with her. It may not be the ideal color for the woods, but at least she has _something_.

And something knocks me down from behind – something heavy.

From the black hair and pale skin – I recognize him as the boy from nine. I frantically kick my legs in an attempt to shake him, but he's persistent. He _really_ wants my bow. There's no doubt in my mind that the Gamemakers designed this package for me. The others tributes haven't seen me shoot at my best, but they know what I can do. They know I'm strong. And if I'm willing to run into the Cornucopia to get an archery set, they know I must have some secret strategy to do something so risky.

That makes them scared.

I take a swipe at him and catch his jaw. He grunts in pain, before _really _pinning me down. His clumsy foot manages to step on the satchel, crushing all eight arrows under his weight. _Damn_. Fury flashes in his eyes, and he draw back his fist, ready to strike. But he coughs on me and blood spatters my face before he flops over to the side dead – knife in his back.

I sit up and see District 2's girl, Clove, prepping her next knife – one of dozens in her hand. I hastily rip the blade from Nine's back and sprint for the woods again, nothing but a bow, a satchel full of broken arrows, and a bloody knife on me.

I'm barely passed the first line of trees when another knife zings by my head, probably shaving a few tips of hair. It sticks into the tree on my very near right and I collect that one, too. As long as Clove keeps missing, I won't need any arrows.

"Clove, stop!" I hear a low voice command. I know I'm supposed to team up with the Careers – but I think I'll wait a little white before confronting them. Two seems to be a little riled up at the moment. "Save it!"

_Water_.

That was what Haymitch said for me to do first.

I keep running - find myself swimming deeper and deeper into some thick greenery. In this, I'll be well covered. I freeze and look around – almost nothing is visible through the leaves and branches. I should be safe here, at least for the time being.

I review survival skills in my head. How to check for water? Was there a formula for that?

I note that the air is frighteningly dry – like it hasn't rained in a while. It smells like _rain_ though, but that could mean a lot of things. The ground isn't telling me much. It's heavily coated in leaves and weeds and roots. I jump on it, trying to sense how damp it is. I don't sink much – in fact, it's pretty solid. I sigh in frustration. Was there a lake? A creek? A stream? They couldn't put us in this arena together with no means of water. That's just cruel, even for the Gamemakers. And besides, it would be a very short Game if they let us dehydrate. Two or three days _at _most.

I inspect a nearby shrubbery, checking for any signs of withering. There are none. And to be honest – it's the greenest plant I've ever seen. District 12 vegetation is typically covered in a fine black powder from the mines. It _had _to have rained. I sit down at the base of a large oak and catch my breath a little. My heart has yet to recover from the adrenaline and close-encounter with death. And while I'm at it – I need to take a look at my arrows.

I pull them out of the satchel and examine them closely. Most are cracked in half.

Damn.

All that wrestling for broken arrows. I guess the arrow heads are still salvageable, and I could make my own shafts –

Water or protection, first?

It's a tough call.

All I'd need for the arrows is a sturdy tree to nab branches from. I turn to inspect the tree behind me. It _seems_ tough enough. I pry at the bark, just to check and what I find makes my stomach drop.

It's bone dry.

The bark that comes off is flakey – not chunky like what I was hoping for. The scab of wood in my hands dissolves between my finger tips like ash. The wind takes them away along with any feelings of hope.

This is pointless.

The sound of canons startles me so bad I knock my head against the back of the tree when I jump. And it isn't just one – it's several.

Eleven to be exact.

Eleven people are dead.

Only thirteen left.

Hooray.

I was lucky to witness two. And I am proud to say that none were at my hand. So...that's good? I guess.

Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing which eleven until tonight. I just pray that Katniss is fine and she got enough distance.

_I wonder if she found water._

I hate not knowing.

Even though I'm hidden by thick trees, I know_ I_ won't be safe for long. The Careers will try to sniff me out before I'm ready – before they've had their cool down. I do plan on finding them tomorrow, but for now – water and protection are crucial. And it would be nice to have a weapon on me in case things take a turn for the worse.

I spend the next half hour alternating between jogging and walking, inspecting trees for a suitable source of wood. I find very few trees nourished enough to considered sturdy, but the ones I do, I strip naked and shove the contents in my satchel.

A few hours pass, or at least I think it's hours – the sun starts going down. In a panic, I realize I have accomplished nothing my first day in the arena. No water today. No weapons yet.

Tomorrow I have to face the Careers. But I'm not ready. Could I afford to push my encounter back a day? Or would it be too late –

_Don't be a coward_.

I have to face them tomorrow. Forget the arrows. Just find some damn water.

At the moment, I'm not super thirsty, but that probably won't be the case tomorrow. But the sun is setting _really _fast. I don't think I'll have time to scour anymore. I find a nearby tree – one I'm not familiar with and scurry up, perching high in a cloak of leaves. I don't feel safe sleeping on the ground. Too easy of a target. Too vulnerable. I loosen the strap of my satchel so I can loop it around the branch and my legs and tighten it, securing me in place so I won't fall out during the night. Within minutes, the sun is completely down. They must want the day to be over quickly.

If my memory proves to be true – the most hunting occurs when the day is done. It's definitely more exciting compared to daylight kills.

_When the sun goes down, the monsters come out._

I find myself dozing in and out of sleep. Every time I come close to falling into a dream, I jolt awake at the sound of leaves rustling or images of the boy with the snapped neck.

But this time, I'm awakened by the smell of smoke.

Only a few yards away from the base of my tree is a camp fire.

_What moron made a freaking fire? Do you _want _to die?! _

They could easily blow my cover – I'm not very far away.

But my question is answered by the sound of laughter.

The fire starter screams a blood curdling shriek before it is cut short. It's too dark to see what happened, but I know that that scream was the last sound the fire starter ever made.

"She's dead?"

"Yeah," a sharp female voice chirps. "What now?"

"We find Lover Boy," a baritone orders, and I know he means me. "He'd make a nice addition."

"But Cato, we need _water_." I recognize the whiney tone of the voice to be Clove. Her voice is strained though – cracking hoarsely with thirst. It's the Careers down below who have just silenced a life. Splendid.

"Later," he dismisses. "Rest up. I'll stand guard."

They're looking for water, too –

If they haven't found it, is it possible that water simply doesn't exist here? If anybody was going to find water, it would have been them. Right?

_Please find water, Katniss. For my sanity. Please._

Thankfully, Cato isn't much of night owl, and he, too, conks out with the others.

Feeling safer, I finally start to drift off, the Careers under me, a dry, cotton feel to my mouth, and a racing heart.

That night, with the smell of smoke still fresh in my nose, I dream of Katniss in a field of flames.

* * *

**I have a confession.**

**I've never had to write action scenes before...This was my first one :P Made me super nervous. LAWL.**

**But well, that was Peeta's first day in the arena! Unfortunately, the way the story is going to lay out, Katniss probably won't make a full reappearance for AT MOST four/five chapters. I won't keep the love birds apart for too long. Why?**

**It's boring.**

**And to be honest, I don't enjoy writing about Peeta's mystical quest for water. Pssh, I must be crazy to not like that!**

**Team Career and Peeta will be forming soon!**

**Here's your sneak peak you wonderful, wonderful readers :-)**

_I'd never connected the dots before, but the timeline added up. Why she became so cut off and distant –_

_Why she started wearing that ring on a chain around her neck –_

_She never even told me._

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	13. Chapter 13

**Over 100 reviews! I love you all! I'm over the moon! Thank you sooooo much!**

**Just a warning... There are some..._slight _modifications to this year's arena.**

**But they are important...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Katniss is alive.

The sky told me a couple hours ago – just when I'd finally found a happy place in the mess of my dreams.

But so many are dead, I can't remember them all. All I know is that all the Careers and Katniss are still running around the woods somewhere. I untie myself from the tree, feeling stiff, dry-mouthed, and oddly enough - cold. My bones ache, too – I haven't ever felt this sore after a night of sleep. But then again, I've never slept up-right in a tree before.

I scurry down the side of the tree covered by thick green, just in case someone is lurking about. The woods are so silent it's unsettling.

And suddenly, the world starts looking black.

I, more-so, fall over into sitting position at the base of the tree, waiting for the Earth to still.

I'm more dehydrated then I thought. I should have suspected that I'd get thirstier faster than on average – I _had _just been running for my life. The adrenaline set fire to my throat.

And by the ashen, speckled skin that is slowly creeping up my hand – I don't have a lot of time.

* * *

Standing up and walking straight proves to be a much harder task then bargained. Directions mean nothing anymore. There is only forward. It's hours – I think. Time passes weirdly here. The sun doesn't travel the same pace as it does at home. It's like we aren't even on the same planet.

Sooner or later, I find myself trudging through a jungle-like section. The trees are strange here, or so I think. It could be the sickness getting to me.

But I can't deny it –

They look like people.

I reach out and touch one on its cheek and study it. Why are you so familiar to me? It's a pale tree with dark leaves, not really matching the rest. Its nose is small and pointy –

And then it hits me.

_Hello, Nine._

I suddenly feel sick to my stomach – sicker than before.

I am walking through the forest of the dead.

Their faces are all there. Both tributes from ten, the girl from three, both from four, the boy from five, both from seven, the girl from eight, both from nine.

And they're staring at me.

The sun is blaring. Goose bumps rise on my skin – but I'm hot. And I'm not sweating like I should be.

And if not seeing the faces of those who have passed having told me I'm gone, when I start seeing pictures – I know I'm truly losing it.

The vines in front of me – jaded and swimming – suddenly reach out to me and coil, like a finger curling. They want me to follow them.

And I do – I stumble forward, unable to look away. The sweet scent of frosting coating the air to the point I'm almost suffocating me in a welcome and familiar way. I embraceit.

_Katniss_.

She's here.

"Peeta?"

It's her _voice_. It's her. I know it.

"Katniss?" I call out softly, trying to peer around the thick vines for her – but I can't. There's too much in the way.

On one of the tight coils of the vine is a large single, crimson bud about the size of my head. It leans forward as if it is looking at me.

I really want to touch it – it looks so soft. The way its petals curls up, almost like a pair of lips.

A very familiar pair of lips – the only pair I've ever touched.

And teeth.

It smiles at me in a devious, familiar way.

"Peeta?"

I know it's her – but why does she sound so sad? No – disappointed.

She's disappointed.

"Your heart belongs to me." I nod, even though I know she can't see me. What's wrong with her? Is she sick? Her words sound so choppy and unfitting. It's like she's broken –

The rose grins at me, flashing its unnerving, sharp teeth – leaning in closer.

Then it snarls.

Montare Falsk.

I bolt just as the jaw takes a bone-shattering chomp in my direction. The vines slither after me, attempting to secure around my ankles and drag me back.

I pull the knife from my pouch and skewer them. The flower gives out a piercing shriek and recoils. I crawl away as fast as I can away from the Dead Forest and to a nearby patch of green. But I can still here its cries of anguish.

Montare Falsk.

My dad had come home from the woods one day with a blue one just like this. It was dead, of course, severed off from the head. He laid it on the table and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"_Look at it," he said. "Whatever you're seeing is not what I see. So remember your weakness." _At the time, I couldn't help but notice the way it resembled the blue of Prim's eyes. But now, the red is uncanny resemblance of the fire dress Katniss had dazzled the nation of Panem in.

_I _know what it looks like – but most likely, the other tributes do not. They'll just be attracted to it, like they're intended – and die.

That's _cruel_.

I know the Gamemakers had hoped I'd go this way - planned on me dying by its hand. Montare Falsk is the closet thing to magic that Panem has ever seen – but this plant was even more modified than a normal one.

They'd stole her voice. She'd sounded so disappointed. It _was _her voice – but it was the tone she had when she asked me on the roof why I was there.

"_Your heart belongs to me_._"_

She had said all of those words at one point or another, but not together. It was like they'd taken segments of speech and put them together, just for me.

They'd bugged our room...

I guess it just goes to show you –

In the Games, you are _always _watched.

* * *

I don't know when I passed out, but when I do – I luckily drop in a field of tall grass not too far away from the Dead Forest. It's soft – it kind of feels like _her _hair after a shower. Wet and gentle. I wish I'd gotten to –

Wet.

My mouth aches at the thought. If the grass it wet –

I press my hand forcefully into the ground, almost laughing when I feel it squish with mud.

_Water_.

I crawl frantically around the field punching the ground, ignoring the pounding in my head. For the first time in my life, I know what water smells like, because when I part the grass in front of me – I see it. It's a small pond, not bigger than my closet back at home – but it's clean, fresh water. Like an animal, I dunk my face in the water and drink until I can't breathe. My lungs are on fire – but I'd rather that than my throat.

I drink more than I should – but I can't help it. I'm going to see another day. I can protect Katniss.

Unfortunately, I have nothing to carry the water with.

I'll just have to stay close by – not stray too far and lose this spot. This is _my _spot.

Where the _hell_ is the rest of the water in the arena, though? They have _got _to have more water than this silly pond in this shitty secluded area. This will be a fast Game if they don't have more water sources.

I comb my way through the grass and back towards the woods, set on finding suitable wood for my arrows now that I'm not going to die.

I find a group of healthy looking trees several acres away from the water and begin peeling bark. They aren't fantastic, but they're the best I've found so far. So I'm not going to give up this opportunity.

It's then that I feel an arrow graze the skin off the side of my calf.

I hiss in pain, clutching my leg. I may be bleeding, but it isn't fatal. It's shallow.

But that's not the worst part –

Someone's close.

I look over my shoulder to see four, pale, grimacing faces racing towards me. Glimmer has her bow up, obviously being the little bitch that snagged me. But she looks sick – not just dehydrated – but _crazy_.

"Glimmer!" Marvel scolds. "What the hell?"

She has tears running down her cheeks, her lips, dry and cracked, pulled over her teeth in a snarl. "No more, Dad! You can't hurt her anymore!" Her voice is hoarse, cracking violently as she screams at me – horrible things that leave me very confused. She draws another arrow out of her pouch, set on piercing me through the heart. I flinch.

Marvel smacks the bow out of her hands and clutches her wrists in one hand and strokes her cheek soothingly with the other. "You're fine. He's not here. Your mom is fine. You're okay." She struggles against him, growling at me.

"Mom," she whimpers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She collapses into him, his arms surrounding her. He shushes her and rocks her. His eyes are circled by dark shadows and his skin looks almost white.

It looks like thirst has got even the toughest of us.

Cato looks the healthiest. Most of his coloring is gone, but he's still standing tall. But the way he's eyeing Clove, who at the moment is swaying, unsteady on her feet, makes me think he's going to lose it for other reasons. "Clove," he murmurs, "Are you okay?"

Clove blinks slowly, batting away whatever is inside her. "Yeah," she mutters. "It's just getting really dark out. We'll need to head back soon."

The funny thing is – it's not dark.

"The hallucinations have begun?" I ask with more sympathy than anything else.

Cato's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. "What would you know about it?"

"It's no fun being thirsty."

Something snaps in Cato and he slams all his weight into me, pinning me against the trunk of the tree I was just stripping.

He presses the blade of his knife into my throat. I try to push him off, but _damn _is he strong.

"Tell me why I shouldn't slice your love-stricken ass to pieces _right _now?"

I gulp. My Adam's apple tickles the cool metal.

Well, shit.

My precious plan. The one Haymitch and I constructed is no longer valid. They are no longer looking for another member to add to their pack. They don't want team work. They need help.

But I can give it to them.

It is then; my new plan falls into place. It may be short-lived, especially on my end of the deal and incredibly heartless.

But it's the Games. And I'm playing.

"Because I know where water is."

* * *

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**-Katie**


	14. Chapter 14

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* * *

I'm going to burn in Hell.

I mean, this is unforgivable. Really –

What would Mom say if she knew? What would Prim say? Madge would be proud of me for being so clever. Prim would probably forgive me – pat me on the back and say she understands my actions.

It makes me feel worse.

Haymitch told me to keep them away from Katniss...so they have to go. I can't change the plan.

_But you're a murderer._

I'm leading them to their death – they just don't know it.

Cato keeps his eyes on me. I can feel it. He doesn't trust me in the slightest. Rightfully so. He's smarter than I gave him credit for. The others probably wouldn't trust me if they were in a healthy state of mind. Glimmer is so far gone. It eats at me. She's barely walking; Marvel is the only thing keeping her going.

"I don't want to shoot!" she screams at me. "I don't want to play in the Games!"

She still thinks I'm her dad. I've come to learn her and her father did not have a much desired relationship. Glimmer has deeper, darker secrets than she's lead anyone to believe. Yet, Marvel seems to know it all. He cares so much for her; it crushes my heart in a whole new way. What would I have done had this been Katniss hallucinating about her mom?

I'd be doing the same exact thing.

The day is short today. The Gamemakers turn off the lights and we set up camp under an incredibly wide oak tree.

"I'll keep watch," I offer.

The others seem fine with this, except Cato, who eyes me warily. He's tired though and eventually caves into sleep. His body curls protectively towards Clove – though never touching. She turns away from him coolly. It's a subtle, unconscious act of rejection that even I can pick out. For the most part, I'm pretty sure she's oblivious to his affections for her. Clove doesn't appear to be the type of girl who _would_ notice, though. She seems hardened, especially when compared to the other girls like Katniss or Glimmer. But who knows – maybe she's a sweet girl underneath her tough exterior.

But she _does _throw knives incredibly well – so, again, who knows. I can empathize with him - knowing it's never easy loving an oblivious girl. Especially in these circumstances.

I wonder if he'll ever tell her how he feels...

Glimmer and Marvel take comfort against the far side of the oak. Her head finds Marvel's shoulder and she melts into him, looking peaceful for the first time tonight. He lightly plants a kiss to her chapped lips before finding sleep as well.

Wow...so they really _were_ a thing.

The monster named guilt is becoming a very close friend of mine at the moment. Being an avid believer in love, how can I knowingly destroy the bond they have?

Too many thoughts tonight. What I would _give_ to not have to think right now. I wish I could just turn it off – forget who I am and where I'm from. I want to forget my beliefs...even if only for a little while.

I rest my head against the oak behind me. It isn't nearly as hard as I thought to stay awake. I'm not tired at all which in a way, is disappointing. I wish I was tired enough to numb my brain so I didn't have to cope with racing thoughts. I need to focus on something mundane for a little while...like...the weather!

The night is peaceful. Normal. No storms of freezing gusts of winds. There's a light breeze every now and then that cools the slightly humid air – it's beautiful. I mean, it's Capitol manufactured weather – so of course it's perfect, but it's still nice.

Moments pass before I hear Glimmer murmuring in her sleep. She's talking about shoes for some reason and it makes me smile to myself – even though the reason she's so articulate in her sleep is fatal. She mumbles something about "pink" before rolling onto her stomach away from Marvel. Her flopping arm catches her bow that was leaned up against the tree and it tips over softly. My eyes follow it to the ground and I start salivating.

Her bow.

Her arrows.

I _want _them.

For the first time since the Games started, I can fully appreciate the empty growl of my stomach. I'm pretty good at dealing with hunger – but sooner or later I'm going to have to eat something. And I have no way of catching and killing my food unless I plan to go stab a bird mid-flight. That might be tricky...

When she's dead I can just take it.

_What happened to your heart? Do you have no soul? No remorse or conscience?_

Two days.

It took me two days to become a complete savage.

No – _more _than that.

I'm becoming what Madge predicted. I had thought better of myself. I assumed I would be above the Games – that their heinous and demented rules would not change my morals. I would not cave into the fear and corruption like so many others.

But I was wrong.

I'm just like them.

I'm an animal.

The revelation makes me sick. How can I do this? How can I just kill four innocent young men and women?

_They've killed, too_.

And that makes it justified? No! Of course not! They're under the same dictating fist that I am and choose to play. They can't help it.

_Neither can you. It's survival instinct._

I seriously hate myself right now. Like a full blown _loathing_. Maybe the stress has finally gotten to me. Maybe I've cracked. I'm _bickering _with myself about whether murder is acceptable or not. On any normal day at home, I'd give my honest answer without second thought.

But now I'm not sure.

Who am I?

_Who are you? Are you proud of it, Peeta?_

When did it become my duty to make the call for others between life and death? When did I have the audacity to manipulate people into trusting me? They're _dying _as we speak, slowly withering away. They are so desperate for water they are giving me their remaining hours to help them. They've made their selves vulnerable under my command. They're_ trusting _me, and I'm betraying them.

Who am I to play God with these people? Who is the _Capitol _to play God with these _children_?

We are not a superior being that chooses their fates.

We are simple people that choose our _own _fate.

And now is the time I define the man I am.

Am I a murderer? Or am I a hero?

I sneak over to where Glimmer sleeps, grimacing at something in her dreams – and take her bow and arrows. I knock it before raising the arch to the sky, pointing it towards the glowing, artificial moon.

Today, I am neither murderer nor hero.

The arrow flies from under my finger tips and pierces the eye of the owl perched at the top of the tree. It plummets down to Earth, a mere few inches from my feet.

Today, I am just a hunter who has caught breakfast for his allies.

* * *

Cato wakes first, taking note of the slain owl and narrows his eyes at it.

"You caught that?" I pick up the bow by my feet. "Wow." He picks up the bird carcass from its spot on the ground next to me and studies it. "Right through the eye. Glimmer can't even hit the branch on a good day. To be honest, I was shocked when she got your leg."

I give a small smile. "I've had a lot of practice."

He doesn't comment on this right away, pulling out matches from his pants' pocket. "I'll get the fire going if you clean the kill?"

I nod.

We work silently as the others sleep. I pluck the owl clean and Cato strips the dry oak bare for firewood. He does it very methodically, like out of text book. Did they teach this stuff in 2? Was there a fire building class?

"You hunt for fun?" he asks out of the blue. His tone carries no anger or belittlement, but yet I feel defensive. Yes, District 12 citizens hunt for fun _all_ the time.

"Sure, I consider surviving _fun_."

His gaze locks with mine. He appears to be unfazed by my cutting reply and to add to it – he almost seems..._understanding_?

I can tell that _he_ knows that the conversation is crossing into potentially illegal topics. And he drops it. It makes me like Cato a little more. We roast the owl in silence. He asks an occasional question about cooking it – and I fill him with all my knowledge of cooking and cleaning animals. He seems eager to learn. But then he asks me a question that catches me completely off guard.

"How did she do it?"

I freeze, not sure who "she" is. "Who?"

"Everdeen," he says with a hint of ice in his voice. "She got an 11. I was wondering if...if maybe you knew...how."

I give him a mildly dirty look. I don't like the fact that he's been paying attention to Katniss. Of course he would – that's why I'm here with the Careers in the first place. To keep him away from her. But it still irks me.

"I wouldn't know."

He narrows his eyes at me.

"Look. I get it. She's your girl. Whatever. I was just curious. She did..._beat _me, you know. And I've always been the competitive type." He shrugs as if he is talking about football – not killing. "I'm kind of scared of running into her to be honest. Who knows was power she possesses. But I'm sure you've seen –"

"Why would she have told me, huh?" I can't help the rising volume of my voice. "She wouldn't tell me. She said she...she..._couldn't_." My voice cracks at the end. Embarrassed, I press my face into my hands, hiding myself.

_Get a grip. Don't look weak._

I raise my head, forcing myself not to make eye contact.

"Owl's done."

We wake the others. Glimmer is barely there when she come to. She's a zombie. How many days was it that you couldn't go without water...three? If that? She's running out of time. They all are.

"We aren't too far away from the water hole," I tell them. "It's through those trees. Over there is a grass field. It's not huge, but it'll be enough."

Clove speaks for the first time since yesterday when she said the sky was dark. "Thank you," she whispers, unable to clear her dry throat. "Thank you, Peeta."

It's then that I decide.

I am not a murderer.

I _am _going to get them water. There will be no deaths in Districts 1 and 2 today.

But as if it had been coordinated, the scent of smoke fills my nostrils – a scent that is not from the camp fire. Marvel jumps up frantically, pointing hand extended. "Look!"

I turn around. And what I see stops my heart.

I see a world crumbling in a storm of fire. Flames licking trees until the point of ash.

And screaming at us to run from yards away, being chased by the raging fire – the last person I'd thought I'd see.

Rue.

* * *

**FIRE! AH! I'm not a big fan of fire...always have nightmares about fire XD**

**And while writing this - I had a total light bulb moment. I have got the most unique twist in the Games set up for Peeta! I mean, one that I didn't know was going to happen since the beginning of the story...I'm excited for reactions! This will change his actions for the next few chapters!**

* * *

**On another note -**

**Digging through old stories on my computer from my grade school years is always fun. And I found one of my most elaborate stories -**

**And since the website I had published it on previously didn't give me much feedback, I've decided to put it on here as another HG fanfic! Yay!**

**It's a third person POV, AU and VERY OCC. It's about time travel, the mysteries of the universe, a love triangle, and self discovery. (Cheesy, I know) It's titled "Where Time Can't Touch Me."**

**I'm planning on posting the first chapter on Tuesday. I'm revising it a little - and I'm warning you: The first couple chapters are dry. I'm setting up characters :P I hope you'll like it, though!**

**It'd mean the world to me if you could take a look at it when I get it up! Thank you!**

**Oh! And I like reviews...:-)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hi, everyone! How was your weekend? Mine was music and soda filled and without much sleep. XD But I wrote this for you! So..yay! heehee:3**

**I have a couple people I'd like to thanks -**

**Norbert's Mom and Texas-Devil-Or-Angel for being such amazing reviewers! Thank you, guys! Really!**

**And also - firefox157 for being such an amazing friend and beta for the the last two chapters! She helps me sound un-stupid ;)**

**Where were we? Oh yeah!**

**FI-YAH!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Fire. Burning. Flames. Hot. Ashes. Smoke.

The forest. The damn, bone-dry forest. The one with the trees so dry the bark flakes off.

It just so happens that it's the perfect setting for a raging forest fire.

I wish I could say that it was an accident. That some imbecile of a tribute left their fire going deep in the woods. But it's not. This is Gamemaker manufactured. Because last time I checked, most normal forest fires didn't shoot canon balls of flames.

One whizzes by my head, singeing off a few hairs– a slight burn on my scalp. The stinging makes me pick up the pace. Cato is on my heels – dragging Clove by the hand. She's dead on her feet, though, so he's doing most of the work. I can't see Marvel and Glimmer. I just hope they're alright. I'm sure they're fine. They were the first to run.

I can hear shrieks from behind me. I turn around to see Rue dodging multiple fire balls as they zoom at her head. They're coming fast and from every angle.

That's not even fair! She's twelve! Take a shot at me!

Why've they stopped shooting at me?

_Because they're targeting her_.

In a fit of panic, she stumbles over a fallen tree. Her foot catches on one of the roots still attached to the ground and she collapses, twisting her ankle before falling on top of it. My heart stops.

She's done. It's probably sprained. And you can't run with a sprain.

She screams out in terror and pain, tears running down her cheeks.

And suddenly – I don't see Rue anymore. My vision splits in two and in one picture – it's the dark haired angel in front of me. In the other, it's Prim laying on the ground, clutching her ankle – sobbing.

I run back, brushing arms with Cato. I can hear him shouting at me to stop and run, but I ignore him. Rue sees me coming at her and she recoils – probably scared I'm going to take a cheap shot at her. She curls into a ball facing away from me.

I place a hand on her shoulder and shake her. "We have to keep moving!"

She looks up at me, doe eyes wide and confused. I help her up off the ground. "Get on my back," I command, bending down at the knees. I feel a slight weight pull me down – but she's hardly anything. I feel like I'm running home from school with a backpack on.

The fire's growing. And fast. It's spreading out and around, caving in on us. I see Cato ahead. He turns around briefly – just long enough to scream my name before a blazing tree falls between us. Our path is gone.

"Hang on," I tell Rue. I take a sharp turn left. The fire isn't as thick this way and there are fewer obstacles on the ground. But the smoke is thicker here – the wind is blowing it this direction – my sight limited.

The tree to my right, one that is in touching distance, is struck with a ball of fire. Ear-shattering loud. And for a minute – the world goes quiet. A high pitched ringing the only thing I can hear.

_Am I deaf?_

The flames from the tree quickly spread along the entire right side of the path. The left catching fire quickly as well. Pretty soon, the woods transformed into a runway from Hell.

The Gamemakers take one last shot at me – not necessarily to hit me – but to scare me witless.

The ball of flame coils out like fingers and forms pictures.

A woman is a dress, twirling. And she smiles.

You've _got _to be kidding me.

The girl on fire. Just for me.

She suddenly flies towards me and I duck in an attempt to protect Rue, but I guess her "hand" brushes gently along my calf because suddenly my entire leg is searing with pain.

_Where do I go?_

I can make out a large rock structure ahead of us through the smoky haze. It isn't a cave – but more like a crevice that goes all the way through to the other side. It's slim – but we just _might _be able to squeeze through.

"Rue," I call over the roar of the fire. My voice cracks with pain. "You're going to have to trust me. Okay?" I feel her chin brush my shoulder in a nod. _Good enough for me_. I pull her off my back and push her in first. She's small enough that she can fit through fairly effortlessly. Her limp is bad, though. She stumbles often; and I can hear her whimpers when she puts weight on her bad foot. I follow closely behind her, having to shimmy side ways to get by. The rocks are sharp and cut and tear at my clothes and skin. I catch my bad leg and just about bite through my tongue.

_This isn't fair_.

I guess it's better than fighting fire.

When Rue breaks through the end of the pathway, she drops to the ground instantly, pulling up her pant leg to inspect herself. She winces as she takes off her boot. I clamber out of the crevice and fall beside her, pulling up my pant leg as well – or try to. Blood and burnt flesh stick to the fabric and I grit my teeth. This is worst pain I've ever felt and an embarrassing grunt passes through my lips.

Rue notices.

"Are you okay?"

I can't form words – the burn is too agonizing. I just nod.

"No you're not," she says, sitting up on her knees and crawling my way. "Let me look."

Rue seems sweet and knowledgeable, so I let her. She prods it gingerly with her fingers, trying to remove the sticking fabric so she can fully get to the wound. Thankfully, her hands are chilled, her touch feels soothing. As she works on my leg, I notice how normal her coloring is. She wasn't thirsty –

"I have just the thing for this," Rue tells me, smiling. She unties the belt from around her waist – a small pouch. Inside, I manage to catch a glimpse of her belongings – a small knife and a silver canister.

She pulls out the sparkling container and pops off the lid, revealing a chunky, clear cream. "This may sting a little," she warns before smearing some on her fingers and pressing it to my calf.

I hiss. It's _freezing_. I wouldn't say it stings – but it's a shocking cold. She gently spreads it around, apologizing whenever she hits a tender spot that makes me flinch. All in all, after a few minutes – my leg goes numb. And it feels _beautiful_.

"Better?"

"Much better," I confirm. "Thank you."

She shakes her head. "_I_ should be thanking _you_. You saved my life. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't stopped for me."

"It was nothing," I dismiss. "Where did you get that by the way?" I nod towards the canister in her hand.

"Sponsors, I guess. I got a nasty cut from Clove on my first day," she points to her ribs cage. I'm surprised she's still alive. "And I when I woke up the next morning, there it was – sitting by my feet. It didn't have a parachute or anything…"

It seemed fishy. District 11 wasn't rich and Rue wasn't a likely champion – so how did she obtain such an expensive donation?

"It's lucky you have it, though. You never know when you are going to need it." Rue tries to stand up, but she's wobbly on her feet due to the sprain.

"Too bad it doesn't work on twisted angles," she mumbles dejectedly.

"You'll be okay," I reassure – even though I don't know if she actually will. "Just take it easy. The only thing you can do is rest it."

She nods at my words, taking a few steps as if testing out her foot and looks back at me.

"Thank you again, Peeta," she whispers. "And may the odds be in your favor." She walks away without another word.

* * *

What are the chances that the Careers are dead?

I have good feeling about Cato and Clove – but Marvel and Glimmer? I haven't seen any signs of them since the fire wall descended. And if Glimmer didn't die from the fire, then she's probably dead from dehydration. Marvel and Clove are a close second.

I decide that before I try to find the Careers again, I should get another drink of water. It's been a while. And I can't wait around for them forever. Right now, I come first.

_It's for the best_. _Let them die this way. It's easier. No blood on your hands_.

Would that be true? If I let them wander off on their own and die would it really not be my fault? I wouldn't have to witness it. They'd do it on their own out in the woods somewhere.

And after they're gone – the Games would be easy…

_Do it_.

I – I – I can't…

"Where you going?" I hear someone sneer. "Don't you want to play a Game?"

I turn around frantically, assuming the words were meant for me. But I'm alone. No one is here.

"I'm not really a _sports _person I'm afraid."

"That's okay. We can make an exception."

The taunting conversation is going on somewhere nearby – and I recognize two female voices: Glimmer's – and….

No.

_No. No. No._

It can't be.

I sprint, ignoring the sharp sting that remains in my leg.

_Please be okay. Please be okay._

This is what I promised myself I wouldn't let happen. This is what I promised Haymitch. This is what I promised _her_.

God, damn it.

And through the thicket of bushes only yards away is what I feared most. For a moment, I almost wish I was dehydrated and hallucinating.

Because through that thicket of bushes only yards away is a laughing girl, perched up in a tree as Glimmer attempts to shoot arrows at her.

And that girl is Katniss Everdeen.

* * *

**Oh! Why hello, Katniss! It's lovely to see you again!**

**I heart reviews, favorites, and follows. A LOT.**

* * *

And on an additonal note - I've had a couple people message me asking if I was planning on doing a continuation to INL and writing up a version of Catching Fire and Mockingjay.

My answer - I have no idea.

After this is finished - my main project focus will be getting WTCTM revised and written - which might take a while. I've got 20 chapters in the bank at the moment (only have about a quarter of them are completely revised) and the story is sitll not finished. To be honest- this story could end up being over fifty chapters. It's ridiculous. I have the outline done. But...wow. It's LONG. I'm excited for you guys to read it.

But here! I have a deal for you.

I will do CF and MJ rewrites if...I get... 200 REVIEWS. DUN. DUN. DUN.

We shall see :D

Thanks everyone for the support!


	16. Chapter 16

Holy Cow. Almost 20 reviews for _one _chapter?! That's insane! Thank you so much, you guys! Seriously! WHOOOO HOOO!

If this is going to be the trend for the rest of the story - then I guess we are going to have ourselves some Catching Fire and Mockingjay! :D

Hmmm...Katniss giggling in a tree? Sounds about right!

Enjoy!

* * *

_Katniss._

She's smiling – laughing even. _Alive_. Her skin is..._glowing_? My chest swells at her joy. Although...it appears my _allies _are a little less than thrilled.

"Shut up, 12!" Glimmer barks at her, sending another arrow her way. It sticks in the tree about a foot away from her. Katniss snorts and yanks it from the wood, wiggling it tauntingly.

"Thank you!" she beams. Then she looks up and sees me – her smile dropping from her face instantly.

_Someone's happy to see me._

"Peeta," she breathes. Then her eyes narrow and her face turns into a pout. "Peeta, go away!

I frown and stumble in her direction. My voice is dripping in sarcasm, "It's good to see you, too, Katniss." Her shoulders slump disappointed that I'm not apparently getting her words. "Why?"

"Because I don't want you here. Go away." Her tone is joking mostly – she appears in a good mood – but there's an underlying warning in her voice.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, right."

"Really," she insists. "Or at least get me a book or something. I have a feeling I'm going to get very bored up here, very quickly." Her eyes dart towards Glimmer who growls and shoots another arrow at her. Yet again, Katniss pulls it out of the tree and adds it to her collection. "Thank you!"

Marvel comes and stands next to me; hands on hips, shoulders slumped – looking exasperated."I've tried climbing the tree myself...but the wood's too flaky to hold my weight. And Glimmer's too weak to climb. I guess the scrawny bitch is lucking out."

I want to punch him. Who does he think he is? I could spit on him for the little nickname he gave her, but on another note–

_Where the hell did he go? How are they both alive?_

His face is pale – looking about as dehydrated as Glimmer. But they are both relatively unscratched.

And his statement makes me wonder if he realizes who he is talking to – if he's hallucinating as well. I don't think he would have said that to me had he realized that it was me and that was _my _Katniss he was calling a 'scrawny bitch.' "Cato, don't let Peeta near her, okay? I don't need him messing this up."

Oh.

I'm Cato.

Hmm.

"We'll set up camp," I say lowly. "Gather around the tree and get some rest. She'll have to come down for water eventually." Is that a Cato thing to say? Not in a million years would he tell them to _simply _leave her alone. He'd wait for her to cave. And besides, I don't want Katniss out of my sight until I figure out a new strategy. Marvel nods and pulls off his backpack to get out the blankets – accepting my answer. Glimmer is still shrieking at Katniss – but she doesn't seem to mind. Actually, she's seems almost..._worried_.

"You look thirsty," Katniss murmurs at her. She shifts awkwardly on the branch, reaching into her pocket for something I can't see. "Here." She throws down something sparkling and silver. As it hits the ground with a thud, I can see what it is.

A canteen.

_Where did she get water?_

Glimmer gasps and drops her bow, running over to Marvel with drink in hand.

They take turns nursing from it and I stare at Katniss in shock.

I then feel very angry – because while I'm trying to help her out – she's undoing all of my work.

I march over to the base of the tree. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

She shrugs. "I'm being _nice_."

"This is not a place for kindness, Katniss."

"I know! That's the thing!" she throws her hands in the air. "No one is ever _nice _in the Games! I'm being _nice_!"

I get the impression that Katniss is subtly mocking the Capital. If that's the case – well, shit.

"If you want to go home – you're going to have to make some exceptions," I growl. Katniss looks down, refusing to meet my eyes. I sigh and run my hands over my face.

"And I really _do _want you to go away, Peeta." She says it so quietly that I'm positive that Glimmer and Marvel can't hear her.

"But _why_?"

She takes a deep breath and connects stares with me. Apologetic. "Because I don't want you to get hurt."

"You're not going to hurt me. You don't even have a weapon!"

Katniss glares at me with sad eyes before reaching into her pocket again. She pulls out something small and shiny and twirls it – letting the sunshine bounce off of it. I focus in on the object and discover that it's very sharp and very familiar.

A knife.

_Okay. Where is she getting all these things?_

"You taught me how," she murmurs. "I think I can fend pretty well when the time comes."

I shake my head. This is unbelievable. "No."

"Then _leave_," she hisses.

The sound of heavy footsteps and snapping twigs are suddenly right behind me. I turn around and find myself face to face with Cato and Clove who are panting wildly. Clove looks really sick. Cato not much better. He looks at me in awe – maybe wondering how I'm alive and where Rue is. But I tell nothing of it.

"Hi!" Katniss beams brightly interrupting Cato's inspection.

He looks between the two of us and raises an eyebrow. "Wh – "

"I don't know," Marvel shakes his head. "Just _get _her down. Now. She's annoying as hell."

Cato waves him off. "Let me catch my breath, man. Where did you guys run off to?"

"Glimmer caught sight of 'the District 12 squirrel' hopping around in the branches by our camp before she started swinging away from the fire. Glimmer took off after her and she got stuck here. The branches aren't long enough for her to climb to the next tree." Marvel pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes tight.

_Katniss climbing trees? What? I didn't know she could..._

"And it would be much appreciated if you would leave me alone so that I could get back to my teammates," Katniss cuts in. _Teammates?_ "I mean, _seriously_. I **just** gave you the water I was supposed to collect for them – so I'm pretty sure that makes us even. And besides, they're probably looking for me..."

"Sorry, girly," Cato grimaces. "I'm afraid I can't." _Like hell you can't_.

Katniss crosses her arms over her chest giving him a nasty look. "Excuse me?"

Cato's taken aback. "I...said I can't?"

"You should be ashamed!" Katniss suddenly starts shouting. "What would your mother say if she knew what you were doing? _Her son – _not showing her manners to a young lady! The very thought! What every happened to chivalry in the Hunger Games?" she harrumphs indignantly.

"Well – I – I'm – "

I can't help it. I laugh. They all stare at me like I'm crazy – and maybe I am. But seriously – how could I not? Katniss is embarrassing a Career, Cato – the strongest of them all nonetheless, over his manners!

God, I love her.

Clove, stands up from the forest floor and makes her way towards the bottom of the tree, mumbling curse words under her breath. She glares up at the tiny, giggling squirrel.

"I think I want to kill you."

Katniss smiles. "You're very charming, you know that?"

Clove starts ascending the tree slowly, obviously tired and trying not to break any fragile branches. When she's just in reach of Katniss' foot she reaches into her pocket for her knife.

Clove's eyes go wide, then. Her face a look of panic. She frantically pats all of her pockets before turning her head at us.

"Where the _hell _are my knives?" she shrieks.

"Oh! Do you mean these?" Katniss turns to her satchel next to her and pulls out five razor sharp knives – one being the one she already showed me. Clove's knives. And _mine_. "I have the rest of them in here. You all took off from your camp in such a hurry I thought I'd stop and _pick _them up for you." She twists the knives in her hand, admiring their sparkle. "I've always loved shiny things."

Clove growls low in the back of her throat and lunges for the knives above her, but Katniss stops her by putting her foot to her shoulder, holding her down.

"Ah, ah, ah," she chastises. "You can have these back when you let me go."

_Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome back Katniss – the dirty negotiator._

"Give me my knives, you little bitch!"

Katniss rolls her eyes with a huff. "Were you District 2's raised in a barn? Have you never heard of 'please' and 'thank you?' My goodness!"

Yep. I've never been more in love than I am right now. But the Careers don't find it as amusing as me. Cato turns to me, glaring. He picks Glimmer's discarded bow off the ground and shoves it into my chest.

"Well, Lover boy – it looks like it's your turn!" He can't be serious.

"I can't –"

"Why not? Because you're _in love _with her? This is the Hunger Games. Forget love."

I really want to point out that he should do the same, but even in anger, I somehow manage to hold my tongue.

"I _would _if I could," I lie through gritted teeth. "But all _my _arrows are broken! And now, dear Glimmer has seemed to have given all hers away!" I gesture towards Katniss sitting pretty up in the tree, a whole set of arrows in hand, swinging her feet and forth like a spoiled child. "So I don't really know what you expect me to do!"

Everyone goes silent. We really put ourselves in a jam. Katniss is high out of reach with God-knows-what in that mystical bag of never-ending supplies and we're down here – defenseless. I mean, of course they could take her by brute force, but Clove and Cato are very sick. And Glimmer and Marvel will soon need water again. As well as me.

Damn.

"Let's just rest," he commands. "I'll take watch and make sure our little squirrel doesn't go anywhere."

Katniss rolls her eyes. "You're too kind."

When I suggest that I can take the night shift again, Cato scoffs. "You can hardly keep your eyes open. Go to sleep." I plan on staying awake anyway, just so I can protect Katniss from Cato in case something happens. But as my head touches the blanket, I can't stop the sleep from crawling up on me.

I jolt awake again before I fall into dreams.

"It's okay, Peeta," I hear Katniss whisper from the tree. "I'll be fine. Go to sleep."

And I do.

* * *

"Peeta."

Poke.

"Peeta."

Poke.

"_Peeta Mellark_. Wake up!"

Another poke.

I open my eyes and see Katniss still perched up high in the tree, a handful of bark pieces. She launches another one at me and it gently bounces off my skin.

"What?" I whisper.

"You _need _to leave."

I sit up, head groggy from sleep. "Why?"

She looks over to the tree across the way, and frowns. "Because something bad is going to happen. _Please_."

I look over to where Cato is supposed to be awake keeping watch, only to find a snoring pile of pale skin.

I get up off the ground and brush off the leaves from my pants. "Are you coming with me?"

She looks over at that tree again, bites her lip, and nods. "I'll be right behind you. I promise. Just go!" I trace her gaze over to where she keeps staring into the dark trees. I squint my eyes, seeing a slight figure in the shadows.

And I see the whites of two, large doe eyes glance up at me.

_Rue_.

And something sparkles in her hand before I hear a faint gritting sound.

She's cutting wood? Why? Why is she here? Why is she with Katniss? Is that her _teammate? _Are there more?

"Peeta! Run!" Katniss whispers desperately.

Something hits the ground with a cracking sound – followed by the terrifying sound of buzzing. Marvel, the one closest to the tree, jerks awake – screaming. And soon all the Careers are crying out in pain, jolting awake, smacking their skin frantically.

_Tracker Jackers_.

I feel a sharp bite on my arm followed by a tingling sensation that spreads into a full out fire. Another one on my neck – then my leg.

My body is on fire – and I'm suddenly sprinting through unfamiliar parts of the woods. I can still hear the sounds of their shrieks. The world starts tilting, and I'm falling over. I crash into a tree, and when I finally have enough strength to pry myself off the wood, there is blood.

Everywhere. My skin is coated in it – and I scream. I try to wipe it away, but I can't get it off. Everything is _red_.

Ants start crawling up the sides of the trees – seeming to devour the woods in front of me. I stumble away and I hear someone call out from behind.

"Hemming!" It' Glimmer, I think. She's so stung that her face is hardly recognizable. How is she still _alive_? She has a knife in hand and is limping towards me – ready to attack.

I try to get away – but the world is spinning too fast and I fall.

This is it.

I'm going to die. My body is too on fire to even begin to get up. There is no fight left in me. I don't even struggle as I watch her raise the knife, ready to strike.

But the knife never meets my skin because out of nowhere – a single arrow pierces her heart.

And that is the last thing I see before I black out.

* * *

Poor, baby :-(

Hallucinations are brutal.

And - you're going to hate me for this but - Katniss is out for a couple more chapters (flinch) sorry :-(

But if it's any consolation...Peeta makes an ally next chapter - and it might not be who you expect...

I love reviews! Almost as much as I love you :3 Heeheeheeheee

* * *

**Hmmm...haven't had an excerpt for a long time...**

_No._

_It can't be - that - she was - __And suddenly, my heart drops to my feet. _

_"Everything I say is true. I **always **mean what I say."_

**THANK YOU FOR READING :D**

* * *

Another note **(if you don't care about WCTCM then you don't need to read this)-** WTCTM...yeah...about that...the more I think about having to 50 chapters...the less excited I get. Because that's A LOT of work and I'm REALLY LAZY. I think I wanna stick to the INL trilogy for a while...I'll post the chapters I have done up every Tuesday and Saturday - but after that it'll be on hold :P Sorry if I disappoint anyone.


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry it took so long to get this up! I've been fighting a bug the last couple days on top of getting ready for school –so my brain is functioning at its best :P**

**And 150 reviews! Eeeeek! :D I love you all. A LOT. We're really close to 200! I'm already brain storming for the CF rewrite. I'm excited :3**

**So...we had a cliffhanger, yes? Peeta blacked out?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Where's my dog?_

That is the first thing that pops into my mind as I journey back to reality from the dream world.

_I need to feed him. It's morning_.

"_Peeta, wake up." _A firm yet gentle slap to the cheek.

I fight against the blackness, struggling to break through.

_I have to feed him!_

"Peeta," the humming warns again. "Snap out of it."

My eyes flash open and I'm immediately blinded. Something moves over the sun, then – and I'm partially back in the darkness.

_Where the hell am I?_

"You're okay. Don't move too much." I focus in on the object shielding me from the sun – a hand? I see double. Before I realize what I'm doing, my arm is stretched out in front of me; my fingers brush against it.

Yep, it's a hand.

"Where's my dog?"

A deep chuckle. "He's safe, Peeta. So are you. Just stop squirming."

I frown. "I – I – I need to feed him." I struggle to sit up. _Why am I on the ground?_ The sun is blaring and I squeeze my eyes tight – it has to be closer to the afternoon than I thought. He's got to be starving!

A firm hand pushes down on my chest. "Okay, then. What's your dog's name? I'll call him for you so you can feed him." They sound like they're mocking me. Fine. Whatever. I just want my damn dog.

I rack my brain for a name – Catna, I think. His name was Catna! No...

Oh...

"I...don't have a dog."

They chuckle lowly again. "I know, Peeta. I know." Even though I can't see straight, I can sort of make out a face. It's a man I'm pretty sure. His voice is low. "Close your eyes. It's going to be bright." I follow instructions, the back of my eyes glowing red from the sun. His hand brushes my neck and hits a spot that makes me jump in pain. _Damn_. He murmurs an apology before yanking something small from my neck. My throat is on fire.

A bee sting?

"Who are you?" I ask through closed eyes.

He laughs lightly. "Cato," he answers through a chuckle. The name means nothing to me. "I'm hurt, Peeta. I thought we'd grown so close in our time together."

"Where am I?"

His hand stills near the source of pain.

"You're in the Hunger Games."

A thousand memories come crashing back all at once.

The Reaping. Prim crying. Madge hugging me. My facial hair being shaved. The parade – being lit on fire. Training. Interviews. Water. Death.

They're like pictures – yet incredibly fuzzy. It's almost like they didn't happen – and trying to remember them makes my head throb.

"Why can't I remember?" I try sitting up, but he shoves me down yet again.

"You need to stop moving. I'm trying to help you," he scolds softly. "And to answer your question – you got stung by Tracker Jackers. It's no shocker that you can't remember – it's one of the common side-effects of their venom."

I blink, processing.

Oh...I do remember that. Marvel screaming and running away – the tiny fairy and the gray eyed girl up in the trees, sawing away at the nest.

Oh, God.

_Katniss_.

"Where's Katniss?" the words are awkwardly loud, but I can't control my volume. "Is she okay? Is she alive?"

_She said she would be right behind me!_

"I don't know where she is," he begins slowly. His hand makes its way down to my arm where another sore point pulses. He gently yanks the stinger from my skin and I hiss. "Last I saw of her she was out cold in the arms of some dark guy. He started booking it when he saw me."

Thresh.

Thresh had Katniss.

A number of emotions run through me – a thousand questions.

_Where'd he take her?_

Why _did he take her?_

If he hurts her, I'll kill him myself.

_But he adores her._

And as much as it hurts to accept that – he cares for her the same way I do. I doubt he loves her as much as me, in fact I'm almost certain he doesn't, but he adores her enough to keep her out of harms way. He'll protect her.

_This is a good thing_.

But I still can't stop the jealousy that runs through me.

"Okay," I murmur, settling back into the dirt. Then my eyes narrow at my healer.

_Now what are _you _doing here?_

"What happened to the rest of the Careers?"

Cato's hand trembles against my leg as he pulls out a third stinger. His voice is stone cold. "Glimmer is dead," he says icily. "I'm not sure how she died. I saw the hover craft picking her up. She was stung pretty badly."

_Almost unrecognizable_, I want to had she really died from the stings? Trying to recall my final memories before falling into my mini coma is like pulling a rain drop from the ocean. Everything's jumbled up. The bleeding forest – was that real? I'm almost certain it wasn't. Even as limited as my knowledge of trees may be – I know that wood isn't capable of hemorrhaging. But if Glimmer really had died from an arrow to the heart – who was capable of shooting?

Katniss had all the arrows. Could it be her? Or had that been another hallucination?

I don't know what to believe any more.

"Marvel's missing," he takes a deep breath, drawing me from my thoughts. "He could be dead, though. I mean, there _were _two canons fired by the end of the fight– so, I mean – that _must _be him. He was hit with the nest on impact. I'm _sure _he wouldn't have survived such a massacre. Could he? No." I'm not sure who he's trying to convince now.

I stare at Cato's face, trying to decipher his true emotions while shielding my own. He tries to mask them through stern eyes and taught lips – but I've become pretty good at reading faces over the past few weeks with Katniss.

"And Clove is gone," he chokes on the last word. His face crumples in a fit of agony.

_Two canons_.

He thinks Clove's _gone. _I can guess what his definition of _gone _is.

I really don't know what to say to a brutish man on the verge of tears – it's something I've never experienced. They don't teach these things at school.

"I'm sure she's fine," I murmur. "She's a fighter."

And then it hits me.

Two canons.

Cato had said she was out cold...

_Or that's just how it seemed._

"I guess we won't know until tonight," Cato retorts curtly, hiding emotions. "Until then," he pulls off his jackets and balls it up before lifting my head off the ground to pillow it. "You rest." He pulls something out form behind him and I hear the faint sound of tinkling metal. With a proud smile, he hoists up a small brown bag and twirls it for me. "Katniss dropped it." I feel bad taking her stuff – but when he holds out a canteen of water for me to drink, I can't refuse.

"Have you drank anything?"

"Of course," he rolls his eyes. "She had three in here. I guess her teammates and her are doing pretty well for themselves."

Katniss, Rue, and Thresh.

Who would've guessed?

"She's got quite the line up of sponsors from what I can tell," he continues, digging deeper in her bag. "Unfortunately there isn't any remedy I can put on your stings in here – but I mean – Come on!" He pulls out a bristly stick. "A _tooth brush_? That's ridiculous! You really did her a favor, know. If you hadn't concocted that love sick puppy story for the Interviews – I doubt she'd be here now."

"I didn't _concoct_ anything," I snarl.

He seems taken back. "So that wasn't just some strategy you and your mentor planned out?"

"No! I mean, yes – sort of. Haymitch kind of figured out my feelings and helped me from there. But everything I've done since these damn Games started has been to get her out of here."

Cato ponders this, eyebrows drawn together. "Do you regret telling her?"

"I regret _how _told her. Not that I did."

He props his back up against the tree behind him, relaxing – looking a little defeated, even. "How would you have told her? If there weren't Games to play."

I consider this. "Knowing me and my inability to use words, I would have done it shamefully. I probably would have screamed at her across the lunch room at school or muttered it awkwardly over dinner on our first date. Which is not really acceptable in most relationships," I chuckle, trying to make a joke out of the heart-felt conversation.

Cato doesn't join me – he stares off into space at something in front of him.

"I would've bought her daisies," he says softly. "I know she doesn't seem like the flowers and chocolates type of girl – but I'd always imagined that under her skin there was a gentler creature that would have blushed over them." A slow smile faintly graces his hardened face. "She doesn't smile or laugh a lot. She's been through too much to ever be that comfortable with happiness again – but I hoped that maybe I could be the one to change that."

For the first time since the Games started – I see something in a tribute that I thought I'd never see.

Me.

The atmosphere of the conversation takes a dark turn at his next words.

"The day she was Reaped was the worst day of my life," his jaw clenches. "Forget me. I don't care about Games. I figured I'd be okay for the time being. If 'the odds were in my favor,' I'd come home just so I could make my father proud. He'd always wanted a victor for a son." He rolls his eyes – glassy with unshed tears. "But that changed when they called her name. It was like everything just stopped. No one had taught me what to do if my heart stopped working."

He looks up from his hands and connects gazes with me – his eyes are tired.

"I think that's why I asked you to join our alliance," he murmurs. "I saw myself in you. I felt like maybe if I had _one _person who understood my pain I wouldn't go crazy. But I did go crazy – I _did _pull a knife on you." He almost laughs at the memory. It wasn't as funny for me. "I didn't trust you. And it wasn't because you were a tribute – one that would try to kill me in my sleep if you had the chance. It was the fact that I didn't trust myself. And _you _were me."

Part of me wants to protest. We were not the same person – but I stop myself. Because I know it's true. _I _can see myself in him.

We were both just a boy with a heart that no longer belonged to us.

"Are you still going to try and win?" I ask, part of me wondering if Cato's a better liar than I gave him credit for.

He shrugs and says in honest, "I don't know." He looks at me, dubiously. "Are you?"

"No," I shake my head. "That's never been an option for me. I can't go home without Katniss. And since that's not an option either, I guess it'll have to be her whether she likes it or not."

A soft clunk catches my attention. I peer over to the bushes to my left – a silver tin canister with a flashing red light. Cato makes his way over towards it warily, before untangling its parachute from the branches.

"It's for you," he says, unscrewing the lid. He pops it off and I immediately can smell the scent of medicine.

_Haymitch_.

"Looks like we can treat those stings after all," he grins before kneeling beside me. He gingerly applies it to all my wounds – the numbing effects taking on immediately and begins to lull me to sleep.

Through my half closed eyes, I can see Cato flash me small smile. "You earned it. Get some rest."

And when I close my eyes – I dream of daisies.

* * *

I wake up to the sound of the Anthem squawking announcing the departed – their name, face, home, and COD proudly displayed for all the tributes to observe. I'm not sure why COD is important – maybe to stir up fear in the remaining survivors eyes? It seems cruel to me.

Cato scoots closer to my side, and I can see him visibly shaking out of the corner of my eye.

_Please Lord, spare two heart breaks tonight._

And like Cato said, there are two.

The fist is a blonde and glowing face.

_Glimmer Aura, District 1, Katniss Everdeen_

My heads spins.

So I hadn't hallucinated.

The thought terrifies me in indescribable ways. But not as much as the next face I see – one that causes guilt and sorrow and fear to constrict around my heart.

_Rue Casture, District 11, Marvel Kirk_

* * *

**Poor baby Rue :-( It had to happen sooner or later.**

**What do you think of Peeta's new ally? Heeheehee – I've always been a Cato fan.**

**Tell me what you think!**

**I love reviews!**

**And a heads up – school finally starts for me tomorrow...so updates will not be as frequent because school + marching band = no free time.**

**Sad :-(**

**Have a lovely week!**


	18. Chapter 18

**I want to write an apology for how ridiculous the waiting period for this update was. Let me just start off by giving you dumb excuses –**

**1) School stared – I'm in all Honors classes and the homework eats me alive**

**2) I have on average about 3 almost 3 hr band practices a week – not including the competitions on Saturdays and football games on Fridays that we have to march half time for. (Jazz Band, Marching Band, Disney Band)**

**3) I got the role of Mrs. Potts for my high school's production of Beauty and the Beast and I have a two hour Music/Blocking/Choreography rehearsal EVERY NIGHT. Not exaggerating. And later this October, those 2 hour rehearsals will mature into 3 ½ hour rehearsals! Yipee!**

**4) Speech team just started...I get to do a Prose and a Dramatic Acting Duet YAY!**

**5) And for all you choir nerds...Madrigals season has started...so...Yeah...**

**I'm really sorry. This story is way behind. A WHOLE MONTH. I'm REALLY sorry. I'm just trying to cram in a small chapter so you don't think I've forgotten. Trust me, I haven't! It's been eating at the back of brain.**

**So...this chapter is INCREDIBLY short and probably not great...**

**So...**

**Enjoy? **

**Ha...**

* * *

I am a monster.

That's all I'm able to figure out anymore.

The next day is nothing but a confusing blur of uncertainties.

Part of me wants to cave – to trust Cato. But there is that other half – the half that remembers where I am and what I must do. And that part of me wants to kill. I never knew I could be so vicious, and maybe it's just a reoccurring side effect of the Tracker Jacker venom finishing itself off in my veins – but I feel like an animal.

And during the night is when that beastly side of me crawls out of its den.

I dream of drinking blood.

I wake up screaming.

Cato talks me back to sleep – warning me brutally that if I continue to scream, he'll slit my throat with his wooden shank so I won't blow our cover.

It shuts me up – even if his eyes say he won't.

In the morning, we hunt for water, and even though we never say so – the girls.

There is no doubt in my mind that as soon as one of us finds our partner, we'll ditch each other – maybe even pull a weapon.

Part of me is happy that Katniss is with Thresh – I know he'll treat her well.

But too well?

Is it crazy to imagine her running off with him? Even though they won't get far in a dark place like this?

Probably.

I can only hope that he had given her medicine like I received. There is now only a slight limp to my walk, getting better with each step. Cato's gotten pretty smug at his healing abilities.

Whatever.

Without the rest of the Careers out numbering me and the constant worry of Katniss – the days drag.

I think it's been three days going on four...I can't tell anymore.

Only one has died since the nest of Trackers fell – Marvel killed her. Glimmer's death has really taken its toll on him.

I can't even imagine his turmoil...

Nor do I ever want to find out.

* * *

Cato's nice.

He's aggressive. But nice.

He really likes to talk sports – something I'm not particularly into. I've never played football before, but after his gory, vivid, descriptions, I don't think I ever will.

* * *

Clove had been a gymnast back in 2.

A good one – tiny and fast – not surprising to me.

I'd hate to see her fight when she wasn't dehydrated. I can only imagine she's found water considering she's not dead yet.

Cato doesn't stop talking about her – it seems to put him at ease.

So I let him talk, and I listen.

On the fourth morning, when I feel slightly ill – I don't think I've fully recovered from the venom, and sitting against the log of this oak trying to catch my breath in a daze, I don't think I ever will – is when I hear the announcement that changes things.

It's that Gamemaker guy – Pultrach? Plutsy? Plucky? My brain is too fuzzy to remember.

But his words sink through.

"_Congratulations to the remaining tributes. There has been a slight rule change. Two tributes may now be crowned victor if from the same district. We wish you luck. May the odds be ever in your favor."_

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I know it sucked! But hey, when you're not getting enough sleep or down time – this stuff just sort of happens! :(**

**I like reviews...You can be brutal if you want. I just need something to push me for the next chapter.**

**Katniss should be back very soon...Heehee**

**161 reviews! Thank you everyone!**

**-Katie**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey...**

**It's been a while...**

**I'm really, really, really, sorry.**

**Would it make it better if I told you I love you all for the lovely feedback you gave me?**

**Yeah?**

**No...?**

**Okay... I understand.**

**Would it make it better if I told you I had really good reasons for taking 3 months to update?**

**Speech team? Jazz band? Marching band? Musical wrapped up? Now I'm in a play? Finals just happened?**

**No.**

**Okay...**

**What if I told you Katniss was in the next chapter? Would that be better? :(**

**I'm so sorry...and I can't say that this chapter will make up for the wait (because it probably won't) but...hopefully some Everlark fluff in the chapters to come will?**

**Yeah?**

**Okay...Enjoy this thing I wrote.**

**...I'm sorry.**

* * *

His eyes snap at me.

I crouch low, ready to fight. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck, that animalistic side of me creeping out once again. The corner of his mouth twitches, revealing a sliver of fang.

A bass rumble emerges from my chest – a noise I didn't realize I could make.

Cato lowers to the ground to match my height.

_What are we_?

The anger drains from his face as soon as the thought flitters through my mind – almost as if he heard it.

"Not me," he says, straightening up. He shakes his head, ashamed. "I can't. Someone else is going to have to."

He doesn't have to say it. I know what he's implying.

Killing me.

Cato isn't going to kill me.

He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath before turning to face me.

"Go find her," he demands. "Before I change my mind."

I've never ran faster.

I'm not sure where I'm running – I don't actually know where Katniss is, but there's a tugging feeling - a pulling in my chest as if my body knows where she is.

I don't look back once.

* * *

I'm not dumb enough to call out for her – but damn, is it tempting. I've been searching for hours; darkness is closing in, the sky fading towards my orange. Should I keep moving? Should I set up camp? I don't have any tools – all I have is a single, dulled dagger. I'm not too sure if it'll do me much if I get cut off guard.

For now, I keep trudging along.

When the sky is finally dark enough to the point where I no longer feel safe moving, I listen for humming mosquitoes – there always lurk by stagnant water.

But all I hear is a gentle rumble – not like thunder or the sounds of a brawl – but...

_A river?_

And then something else catches my ear...

"_Are you, are you, coming to the tree -"_

Before I have time to turn around – no, before I have time to _blink_,an unimaginable pain pierces the skin on the back my thigh. I collapse against the searing agony and shudder to the ground. I flip over onto my back to face my attacker, but he swiftly gashes a matching mark to the front.

Marvel.

His face is unrecognizable – a giant, swollen mess of red, oozing, lumps. His eyes are mere pale purple slits in his face.

The sight is almost as upsetting as the red running down my hand.

Blood is rushing through my head, the sound of the river –

But even over those, I can hear _him _singing his death march.

"_Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it seem -"_

I pull my dagger out of my pocket. The blade is already dripping in rubies from my own wounds.

I take a cheap shot at his foot through the top of his boot, hoping that the knife still has enough bite in it to give some sort of injury– and it does.

But Marvel doesn't cry out – he keeps singing, his lips look like they're barely moving beneath his Tracker Jacker wounds. He swings again, slicing my side by my ribs, but not deep enough to destroy anything vital.

I try to run, but my leg protests in a shriek of fire and I collapse on top of it again just as my world starts to spin – the blood loss, the tears, both are clouding my vision as I try my hardest to crawl away.

His large boot steps on my ankle, and I can hear it, _feel _it, giving under the pressure.

I scream. The blackness is closing in on me. My skin is clammy with sweat and blood and my mouth feels suddenly dry.

_Is this what it feels like to die?_

I take a swing at his calf and plunge it to the handle – this time Marvel shows a sign of pain. His barely-there eyes widen in shock, puffy mouth drops open.

I'm proud of myself, thinking I did this – that I might come out on top.

But then his eyes roll back into his head and he slumps to the ground, an arrow in his back.

And then, once again, the blackness takes me.

* * *

**I love reviews almost as much as I love you!**

**Oh! And side note. This story WILL be finished by June. Pinky swear. I estimate another 10 chapters MAX. And the more I brain storm outlines for a sequel, the less and less likely it is I can actually WRITE a sequel. The way I plan on ending this story there won't really be a way to continue it...so...how about I drop a few other Everlark ideas? Or better yet, you give ME ideas for other Everlark stories? Yees?! :D**

**I love AU :3**

**Ones I've had in my head since I started writing this:**

"_Peeta doesn't know her. And he knows that she'll never tell him who she is. All he knows is that her eyes are gray, she hates cats, and that she likes to put vodka in anything she drinks. Her words cut, yet her voice is like a lullaby. Her heart is "cold," but yet she flushes hot when you ask her about sex. She gives the best hugs you'll ever get, but she can snap your neck like a twig._

_Yet, he still can't help but love her"_

_*Secret Agent Everdeen* - "Silver"_

* * *

"_She doesn't speak. She won't play with the other children. I don't know if that's what _you _want."_

_Katniss has heard the social worker tell all the parents that come to adopt her say that, but it doesn't matter. She has a guardian angel. The only person she needs to be happy."_

_Dumb summary...still working on it._

_*Peeta Pan/Guardian Angel* - "Time Feelers"_

**Look up 'Prelude for Time Feelers' by Eluvium if you haven't heard it. I think that describes a couple of the scenes I've panned out.**

* * *

"_I've heard that she killed her parents so she could keep her sister to herself. I've heard that she ran away from Colorado to come live with her druggy boyfriend who we've never seen because he's over eighteen. I've heard more idiotic ones than those about her – but these are the ones that made her cry. I don't know where she came from, but I want to take care of her. That's all I want."_

_*Dark Katniss/Angel Baker* - Threnody_

(If you go listen to the song Threnody by Goldmund, you will understand EXACTLY why this song inspired this idea. It's heart wrenching. Even though it's just a piano.

**Tell me what you think! I'd love to hear from you!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hi! SUPAH-FREAKY-FAST-UPDATE. WOOOOOAH.**

**And I'm doing this:**

**1) Because belated Christmas gift. Because...I still feel bad.**

**2) Guys...WE BROKE 200 REVIEWS! FOR MY FIRST STORY!**

**3) I love you. :3**

**But yeah, as for this chapter... KATNISS.**

**And a whole lot of nothing happens, there's just some fluffiness lodged in here. Next chapters will be MUCH more revealing.**

**Enjoy!**

The first thing I register as I come back from the darkness is a rushing sound, like waves beating against rocks.

The second is a slight humming, like when the blood rushes from your head to your feet too fast.

And the third is sniffling, like when Prim is hungry, and her stomach screams at her.

I feel the gentle caress of a something brushing over my forehead, clearing away damp strands of hair. My head rests on something softer than the ground I collapsed upon.

I feel..._safe. _Did I die? It's much too calm to still be in the arena - maybe my fight with Marvel ended differently than I imagined.

No.

I can't be dead. I can't leave Katniss alone - I have to help her! I have to protect her. If I can't do that, then what did I die for?

_Open your eyes. Get up. Now._

I feel that tingling sensation you get on the inside of your eyelids when you're trying to wake up from the middle of a nightmare. My limbs twitch, and then I sense the breakthrough - light blinds me through the slits of my eyes. I can make out some shapes, but all of them smear together like water colors. There's a figure lurking, that much I can tell.

_Marvel?_

I try to scream, but the only sound that my sore throat manages to make is a small croak. The stroking sensation against my forehead stills and the sniffling stops.

"Peeta?"

Okay, that's definitely _not _Marvel.

"Peeta?" The hand comes down to lovingly stroke my cheek.

_Katniss? _My eyes fight through the fog a little more until I can make out the cut by her eye and the tears running down her cheeks.

"Katniss," I croak. I try to reach out to her, but my arms are dead by my sides.

The most heart wrenching smile breaks out across her face.  
"Peeta," she whispers, a happy sob cutting her off. She lunges at me then, her hands framing my cheeks as she begins to pepper frantic kisses across my face. "I - didn't think - I'd - find you," she murmurs in between pecks. "I - never thought you'd - wake up."

_Okay, I must be dead._

A small chuckle bubbles from my chest. How is this real?

The intense feeling of Euphoria washes over me, like I'm tucked away, wrapped in a warm blanket - Katniss' lap my pillow, her lips pressed into my chin. The chuckle turns into a full force laughter, that is, until a sharp pain in my side cuts me to pieces. I gasp and clench my teeth - hissing between them.

"Shhh," she coos, "Relax, you're safe. Here -" she shifts under me, moving my head onto a pillow before leaving my sight. She returns moments later with a canteen in hand. "Drink. You had a bit of a rough night."

She helps tilt my head to meet the lips of the bottle, and I take a couple of small sips before my stomach turns.

I turn my head away, unable to finish. My stomach feels like it's been jumbled around, not in the normal "Katniss" way - but like when I got the flu in the second grade and threw up on the swings. I don't think I'm going to _be _sick...but I think I _am _sick, yet oddly - _medicated _feeling.

My ability to form words is at a low point. It seems as though my brain is pulling a muscle just trying to conjure up anything remotely human sounding.

_Say something to her, damn it! She saved your life! AGAIN._

Katniss adjusts the sleeping bag around my frame, pulling it up to my chest. No words come.

It's then, though, I notice that I'm missing some clothing. My shirt is gone, and in its place, bandages that wrap from my navel to my armpits. A faint trace of red trickles from just below my chest to hip bone. Marvel's cut.

I shakily lift my hand and follow the line. There is an acute bite at the source of my fingers and I flinch.

Katniss notices me examining the wound. "You need new gauze," she says, mostly to herself. "I'll be back."

She flees again - leaving me alone.

My eyes try to readjust to the lighting - there is sunlight, though little. And not from overhead, but from somewhere behind me. And there are a lot of rocks - a stone wall hanging above me.

_A cave?_

Is this where Katniss has been hiding this _whole _time? I loll my head to the side and observe the utensils lining the walls.

Two water canteens, a couple bags, another sleeping bag, pillows, some jars - ones that resemble the one that Rue gave me, and lo and behold - a _toothbrush_.

I hear timid footsteps.

Out of sheer instinct, my heart starts racing and I try to sit up, panicking.

_Did someone find us? Where's Katniss? _

I manage to mumble Katniss' name, but the articulation resembles Haymitch after he's had a few. I throw the sleeping bag off of me, instantly freezing against the chilling draft. Goosebumps prickle along my skin and I attempt to call out her name once more.

"Peeta!" I hear her gasp. She has a white bandage roll in one hand and a jar in the other. Her eyes flash wide and she rushes to my side. "What are you doing? Stop moving," she scorns softly. Her hand gently pushes back down against my chest. "What's the matter?"

"I - I - thought you, where you...toothbrush."

_Toothbrush?_ _Seriously, Peeta?_

It doesn't really fit with what I was trying to say, but that's the word that decides to pop out.

Katniss stares at me unblinkingly, and for a second, I think I've scared her. Then, she breaks into a happy cackle, shoulders heaving. It's the happiest sound to ever touch my ears.

"You poor baby," she sighs when she's finally caught her breath. "The Captiol has some _really _intense pain killers, don't they?" She reaches behind her and grabs the roll and jar. "Do you need more?"

I do.

But if those are the cause of my astounding incoherence, then I'll pass. I'd rather talk to Katniss with some pain then be so drugged up I can't form a single sentence.

"No...thank you," I stumble. She doesn't laugh this time; however, her teeth sink in her bottom lip as her cheeks spread into a goofy grin. I try to smile back, but the muscles in my face feel a bit numb.

"Oh my God," she snickers. "Stop. Just stop. You look really... I don't even have words." She chuckles under her breath again as she starts to unravel the gauze from around my torso. "This may be a bit cold," she warns before continuing. Her eyes glance down to my uncovered bottom half and she reaches down to pull the sleeping bag up again. Katniss was kind enough to put some shorts on me, but other than that and the few bandage wrappings, I'm mostly nude and freezing my ass off.

One Katniss fully strips me of the soaked gauze, she dips her hand into the jar behind her and gathers some clear liquid gel on her finger tips. She softly traces the seam of my cut, but the iciness of the gel makes my entire body violently shiver.

"Sorry," she murmurs. She unrolls the new bandages and makes quick work of resetting my wrap. As soon as she's finished she moves down to my legs. "These are significantly deeper than the one on your side," she mentions as she rolls up the flimsy leg of my shorts. "These will take a lot more medicine and time to heal." She eyes the jar with a cross look on her face. I can see from here that we're running low, but she doesn't acknowledge this out loud. She gingerly tends to the two other wounds, apologizing every time I shiver or wince.

"Are you cold?" she asks worriedly. I try to shake my head 'no' but another fierce tremor takes over me. "Here." Katniss grabs the other sleeping bag and drapes it over my upper half. "Better?"

Yes...I guess. But I just want her near, and well, here's an opportune moment!

"No," I say. "Come here."

She's still for a moment, a perplexed look on her face like she doesn't understand what I mean by 'here.' Then I stretch my hand out to touch her face, my arm seeming twenty pounds heavier than usual, and brush her cheek.

The light bulb goes off, and in an instant, she's pressed up against me under the covers. The smell of her hair and the heat of her body is like coming home. And I feel like as though the empty hole in my chest has once again been filled - and I no longer feel like an animal on the prowl. I no longer worry that I will lose myself.

Because I feel _human_.

"Better?" she asks again, a teasing tone in her voice. I turn my head towards her, our faces so close our noses brush. I don't try to speak, worried that my dumb words will kill the moment, but crane my neck trying to close the remaining space between us.

When my fatigued muscles won't allow me to go any farther, Katniss takes matters into her hands - by grasping my face and kissing me.

My heart takes off sprinting. It's softer than the first time we kissed, slower too. She's treating me like I'm easily breakable, like I'll shatter if she touches me with anything more than the strength of a moth's wing. I try my hardest to respond, but my face is still numb and I'm not sure I have much control over the muscles of my mouth anyway.

She stills her lips and gives a throaty chuckle against my mouth.

"Wha -?" I try to ask, but she shushes me with one last kiss.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Peeta," she begins, giggling. "But could we maybe try this later? Your face seems to be a little..._loose._"

**I love reviews! ALMOST as much as I love you darling readers :3**

**Thanks for the support!**


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